


The Prince of Ash and Snow

by TheNotSoSuperSaiyan



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama & Romance, F/M, Gangs, Gen, M/M, Modern Era, Slow Burn, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-04-05 06:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 87,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14038152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNotSoSuperSaiyan/pseuds/TheNotSoSuperSaiyan
Summary: Based off the web comic “Girl Next Door" by Stupidoomdoodles and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets.Vegeta had been trapped his entire life. Trapped under Frieza’s thumb, trapped in his own past, and now he was trapped in West City. While stationed there, in a barren apartment he meets someone who may just have the power to change everything. It could mean his freedom...if he can survive.Rated: Strong T





	1. The Girl Next Door

THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

#    
CHAPTER ONE: THE GIRL NEXT DOOR  


Content Warning: contains extreme violence and some language

* * *

 

DECEMBER 3rd

The first thing he felt was the cold. Not the kind that nips at the nose and excites the lungs. No. The kind of cold that penetrates your bones and thickens your blood, numbing your limbs and causing your muscles to shake. As the rest of his senses returned to him, the man became keenly aware of just how incredibly lost he was. A single bell light swung back and forth in the dark room. He could see more light slipping in from under the door but it was far away, too far. Officer Johnson didn’t remember how he got here. He was sore. His head throbbed. The only noise he could hear was the distant echo of dripping water and the sound of his own erratic breaths. He could feel the frozen air of winter on his ankles. Was he in some sort of shed? A warehouse? Everytime the bell light would slow down, almost enough to stop its motion, something would go ping! and it would, once again, be set swinging.

He tried to control his breathing, but panic soon took over. Using all his strength, he struggled in vain to break the ropes that bound his torso, hands, and ankles. Thrashing violently, he tipped the chair over, his face colliding with the cold concrete floor. It was porous and rough like it had been worn down. He started to sob uncontrollably. “Help! Someone help me!”

“Oh come now, Johnson. Stop that. You’re just embarrassing yourself.” A harsh voice cut through the darkness. It shot needles of panic through the pit of his stomach and into his spine.

“Who-who’s there? Who are you?”

“My god, Johnson, you really have no idea why I’m here? Come now…,” the voice chided. A steel-toed boot collided with the man’s ribs hard enough to flip the chair over, sending a trail of saliva down his chin and shirt.

“Oh...oh...God….it’s...it’s….you.” Even if Johnson was untied, even if he was free and had his weapon in his hands, he would’ve been paralyzed with fear.

The newcomer stepped into the light. He was young, Johnson may have even described him as handsome if they had met under different circumstances, but he knew this boy, knew what he was capable of. He wasn't a boy, or a man, he was some sort of demon. His dark eyes flickered with excitement as he moved closer.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He stopped for a moment with feigned thoughtfulness. “I’ll tell you what, Johnson, we’re going to play a little game.”

That’s when the officer began to beg.

Ignoring him, the young man continued. “Here’s how we play. I will touch you once and you’ll get one chance to tell me what I want to know. If you don’t, I get to touch you again. Whoever lasts the longest wins. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it, Johnson?” He was clearly enjoying himself. He had reached the officer now and with one swift movement jerked the chair upright, stabilizing it with his foot. Their faces were only inches apart. A sick grin split his face. There was death in his eyes.

“Wha-what d-d-do you mean t-t-t-touch?” Johnson whimpered through the frantic gasps and sobs.

The young man smiled sadistically at Johnson, he unfolded his arms and ran his grip down to the officer’s tied hands sandwiched between his knees. He leaned in even closer and whispered in a gruff voice “...like this…” and with one swift motion snapped Johnson’s index finger.

“I feel it's only fair to tell you, I've never lost.”

The last thing Officer Johnson saw was the man’s face split into a sick grin and flash of white teeth in the darkness before he lost consciousness.

 

* * *

 

Vegeta slipped into the dark alleyway, pulling his fresh, clean hoodie down over his chest. He rubbed his raw knuckles and thoughtfully watched the snow as it gently fell in the light of the streetlamps.

He hated the snow and he hated being stuck in West City. It was just another shithole job. Despite the fact that he had proven himself time and time again as one of the best “assets” to the Cold Family, he never got prestigious assignments. He always ended up somewhere like West City or Ginger Town. Ugh...Ginger Town. He was wasting his time sharking from low-class scum for Frieza when he had the capability to do so much more. He had been stationed there for just over three months in a bare apartment at the heart of West City and there he would stay until Frieza ordered him somewhere else.

Well that was disappointing. He thought to himself. He walked briskly down the street, pulling out his Nokia 6061 from his pants pocket and absentmindedly typed a message with one thumb.

Back from store. No bread. Won’t have any til Monday. But, they had candy. -V

thats a damn shame old lady needed bread loves candy tho - n

He chuckled to himself. Old lady. He shoved his phone back down into his pocket. He was finally home. His cold, aching hands fumbled with the keys.

“Hi neighbor!”

Vegeta froze. Oh God. Not now. He turned around just in time for her to collide with him and fall right into his arms. She was breathless, her hair and coat covered in freshly fallen snow. She was a petite, pale girl with vibrant blue hair and piercing blue eyes. Light freckles speckled her face. She was simply electric. She was, she was like starlight. He hated it.

“Hi crazy person who keeps running into my arms for no reason.” His eyes darted around for an escape. The door was so damn close. Ugh.

“Say, Vegeta, since we became friends in the last few weeks---”

“More like acquaintances really.” He tried to be as curt as possible, attempting to inch past her to the door. But resistance was futile.

“SUPER BEST ACQUAINTANCES, yes, how about you join me and my friends this Christmas?” She almost jumped, leaning in even closer as she spoke, her eyes alight like a gasoline fire. Her enthusiasm was exhausting and frightening and confusing. God, this girl was so confusing.

“Uh...what’s that?” He was absentmindedly trying to get to the door again.

“My christmas party, would you like to come?” She bit down on her lip and looked up at him with those adopt-me-eyes that puppies give. Damn it. Of all of the people she could bother, why did it have to be him?

Suddenly feeling hot and prickly in the face, Vegeta stuttered. “No, I...uh...I mean a Christmas?” He would rather have been just about anywhere but there right then.

Bulma caught his gaze again, her smile dripped with honey. He held his breath waiting for her to say something...or leave. That would work too.

“Vegeta?” She questioned, giggling. “Are you secretly an alien?”

“Okay, crazy. We’re done here.” With one swift movement he turned her around and slid into his apartment, slamming the door behind him.

“I’ll take that as a maybe!”

 

* * *

 

DECEMBER 8th

Vegeta sat by the frozen fountain in the frigid night air. He hated the cold. He hated it more than the blistering heat, more than a torrential rain, and even more than wading through waist deep mud. He’d never complain about it though. What good would that do? It would just guarantee he be sent somewhere even colder next time. He ripped his phone from his pocket.

2:59 am

Of course Nappa was late. Nappa was always late. If it wasn't for Vegeta, nothing would ever get done on time...or at all. Would it kill him to be responsible for once? Or to pick a warmer spot? Shit.

He had been waiting nearly a week for this drop. Nappa always had one reason or another to put it off until Vegeta explicitly threatened to wax him. The older man would never admit to it, but he was afraid of Vegeta. That was good. There may be hope for him yet.

Vegeta wadded up his hands and shoved them deeper into the cold fabric of his hoodie, his fingerless gloves covering his suspiciously bloody and bruised hands. Pulling out his ratty paperback copy of Ender’s Game, he thumbed through it, trying to distract himself from the bitter winds that stung his face, neck, and ears. It was the only book he actually owned. He could slide it into his duffle and take it wherever...work...brought him.

His life, the life he had been fated for, didn’t allow much time for casual reading….or anything for that matter. That thought itself almost made him chuckle. He was honestly surprised sometimes that he even learned how to read. His tactical education was much more advanced than that of his academic education, but still Frieza took an interest in his learning. He’d never understood it.

Times like this were dangerous. He’d let his mind wander where it would take him. Often it took him to the past. That was the last place he wanted to be. While he survived it once, he wasn’t so sure he could do so again. This was the reason he never looked back.

A large, bald man wearing khakis and a dark brown sweater approached him. Vegeta didn’t bother looking up from his book.

“Mind if I sit here?” the man asked.

“Look at you, using your big boy words. There is hope for you yet.” Vegeta said cooly, slowly turning the page.

“Shut the hell up, Geets.” The large man threw himself down next to Vegeta.

“Don’t call me ‘Geets’.” Vegeta sounded as if he couldn’t be any less interested.

“So, I heard you picked up some candy for the Old Lady at the store.”

“I hope she likes snow.”

The man laughed and slapped Vegeta on the back. Vegeta struggled to contain his irritation. He unhooked his slender ankles and pushed a ragged duffle bag from behind his feet to the man’s feet.

“How much candy did you get?” The man looked shocked.

“Every last piece.” He turned a page and then looked at the man with a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile, adding, “all one hundred kilos.”

The man almost fell into the fountain.

“What the hell, Geets?” The man hissed in Vegeta’s ear “Do you even know how much this is worth? You just pulled a two million dollar fucking job.”

“Nappa, I don’t need you to tell me how good I am.” Vegeta said casually as he walked away without looking up from his book once.

 

* * *

 

It just wasn’t working, nothing was working. Bulma slammed her soldering iron on the table and it bounced to the floor. She buried her face in her hands. What good were the damn Dragon Balls if they were lost? What good were these blueprints if she only had 57% of the information? And what good was she if she couldn’t find them? She wasn’t strong like Goku. She wasn’t terrifying like Launch. She didn’t have authority like Krillin. She wasn’t...well, she was kind of glad she didn’t have anything in common with Roshi. What she did have was her mind. She was smart. Wicked smart.

Although, she sure didn’t feel that way right now. This stupid device seemed simple enough in theory but everytime she thought she had worked a way out of the maze of circuitry she had built she found herself at another dead end.

She wanted to smash the stupid screen into a thousand tiny pieces. As her face slipped out her hands, she realized she’d been crying. Setting down the small screwdriver, she leaned against the cold window and watched as condensation dripped circuits and patterns down the inside of the glass. She welcomed the sting of the cool water on her bare arms, and watched as white clumps swirled and danced in the dark sky, never seeming to touch the ground.

Something about the storm felt so clean, so simple, unlike everything else in her life which was becoming increasingly complicated, moving from black and white into unreadable shades of mucky gray. Her body felt stiff and heavy, like it was about to collapse under its own weight and crush her.

A sound pulled her back from the flurries. The distinct creak of familiar heavy footsteps in the hallway. Quiet and careful, intentional. Vegeta. She flicked her wrist, turning the face of her watch on.

3:34 am

Shit. It was late, or early?

She jumped up and shoved her eye against the peephole. He was still outside fumbling with the lock.

It was just then that she had a genius idea.

 

* * *

 

Vegeta’s face and hands burned from the rapid change in temperature. He had been out in the storm for nearly two hours for a drop that should have only taken fifteen minutes. His hands were bright red and swollen and his fingernails were turning a nice shade of purple. Dropping his keys on the ground, he fumbled with the kitchen sink, turning the water on cold. It felt like fire. He slammed his head on the cupboard in frustration and hissed.

Screw Nappa. Screw this godforsaken frozen wasteland. Screw Frieza and the Colds. Everyone of them could freeze in Hell. Everyone could freeze in Hell, as far as Vegeta was concerned. He decided he was going to kill the next person he saw.

Damn. It. All.

A sound pulled him back from the fire in his hands. It was a gentle, fluttering knock at his door. Glancing at the time, he knew that it could only be one person.

Great. This night keeps getting better and better. He sighed. No. Ignore it. She'll go away.

But she didn't. Of course she didn't. She never did. She was like Q fever or Agent Orange. She would lay dormant, undetected and strike when you least expected it. Nothing deterred her, nothing could get rid of her. She was ruthless. He could barely hear her cheery voice over the kitchen sink and through the door.

“Vegeta, open up. I know you're in there. I have something for you."

He didn't respond. He tried to turn up the water but it wouldn't go up any further. It definitely didn't muffle the sound any more.

“Oh, come on. It's me, your neighbor. Bulma.” She added the last word with a sing-song tone. It made him sick. She made him sick. Everything made him sick. She clearly wasn't taking the hint.

“Go away." He grumbled loudly.

“Come on, you're not going to say no to a free beer, are you?” She teased through the door.

What was she up to?

He walked up to the door and pressed his face against the cold seam between the door frame and the door.

“Yes. I am." He said harshly.

He could practically feel her boundless energy seeping in through the thin walls of the apartment. He let his forehead fall against the door with a quiet thunk.

Why? Why me? He thought. I don’t have time for this.

“Just take the beer. No strings attached. I’ll stay out here and drink mine and you can either join me or drink yours in there.”

 

* * *

 

There was an awkward silence before she heard the deadbolt slowly unlock. She smirked. Gotcha. The door opened just enough for a hand to shoot out and grab ahold of a bottle before the door slammed shut again and the deadbolt clicked. She couldn't help but chuckle. This guy was ridiculous.

Would having a beer with his neighbor literally kill him?

She turned her back to leave, then stopped. Something tugged at her heart with every step that she took. She had never met someone so entirely alone. Did he have friends? Family? She found herself leaning against the cold wood of the door and sliding down to the ground. She took a thoughtful sip of her drink.

“I don't know if you like beer or not. I'm not much of a drinker myself but it can help calm me when I'm stressed out or thinking myself into knots.”

Nothing.

“I actually had to check these to see if they had expired because I've had them in there for so long. Six pack I bought about a year and a half ago. Can alcohol even expire?”

Nothing.

“I've been up late working on this huge project and it's got me stumped. Didn't even realise how late it was. What about you?”

Nothing.

“Work.”

Her heart almost jumped out of her mouth. She suddenly didn’t know how to respond, twisting the bottle around in her hands and leaning her head against his door.

“Oh...yeah? Must work like a graveyard shift, huh? What kind of work do you do?”

 

* * *

 

Vegeta’s hands were still burning, he had wrapped the cold beer in the sleeve of his hoodie. He had no idea why he had accepted the drink. But he had told himself that it was it would’ve been the easiest way to get rid of her. Yeah. That’s right. He didn’t drink, typically. Impaired judgement and took away your inhibitions. Inhibitions were important when you worked with nothing but liars, killers, and thieves. Here he was sitting against the door sipping a beer and talking to this woman. He really shouldn't encourage her like this. Now she was prying. Best not to answer any questions.

“Are you like a mall cop or something?” He heard her thoughtful voice float through the door.

What the actual hell?

“Do I look like a mall cop, Blue?”

Tzch. And I’m the alien. He mused to himself.

“Uh. No. You do not. If you are you're the most handsome mall cop I've ever seen.”

There it was. That hot, prickly feeling crawling up his neck and face again.

 

* * *

 

Silence hung heavy in the hall and Bulma’s ears filled with the hollow humming of the fluorescent lights. His gruff muffled voice split the silence.

“It won't, by the way.”

“What?”

Was he trying to continue the conversation?

“It’s alcohol, it's fermented it won't go bad until after you open it.”

Bulma heard a rustle as Vegeta stood on the other side of the door. She followed his lead.

“Oh. That's good to know. For, you know. The future.”

“Night, Blue.” She heard his voice fade away as he retreated.

She bit her lip to keep her knees from giving out. Her heart fluttered around in her chest like the snow flurries outside. “Good night.”

 

* * *

 

DECEMBER 10th

 

Vegeta wiped the snow from his face with his forearm. Hmm, his hands still smelled like bleach. He stopped by the Scotty's Liquor about a mile away from his apartment to get supplies. It was only 10:00 pm, an early night for him. He liked this place. It was out of the way, quiet. No one ever came here and no cameras.

He stocked up, paid with cash, and grabbed a roll of quarters from the corner store before heading home. It was dead quiet in the complex. 10:00 pm on a Tuesday night? The perfect time to do laundry.

Vegeta slung the burlap bag over his shoulder, shoved his paperback and the quarters into his pockets, and headed back down the stairs to the laundry facility. He strode into the laundry room and stopped in his tracks at the familiar sight of soft blue tresses, his combat boots squealing on the tile. Great. Just, great. Despite his initial shock, he recovered quickly and strode into the room with his usual air of simmering broodiness.

She seemed as surprised to see him as he had been to see her. “Vegeta?” she sniffled with wide eyes.“What are you doing here?”

Wait, was she crying?

“Laundry.” He replied dryly.

“Oh…yeah.” She seemed embarrassed? Whatever. Maybe that meant she wouldn't talk. He settled in tossing his bag off his shoulder onto an empty washer and dropping his bloody clothes in. Damn, he had done a number on these. He pulled out his detergent, ammonia, and vinegar and began pouring them generously into the washing machine. He heard her cough.

“Ew , what do you wash your clothes with? Gah, that smells disgusting!” He smirked to himself and settled in on top of the tumbling washer to read, arms folded tightly across his chest.

When Bulma heard her washer cycle end she dug through the load until she found several pairs of panties. She inspected them, wadded them up in her fists and threw them back in with exasperation.

“Y’know…. The secret to taking blood stains out is vinegar and ammonia.” He mused, absentmindedly turning the page.

“Oh my god Vegeta! Stop with the creepy ‘Breaking Bad’ advice in the laundry room!”

“M’just sayin’ you must blow a fortune on underwear, man.” He purposely avoided looking up at her but could hear her sigh.

Wait, was that a sniffle? Was she crying? Damn it.

Something in him twinged. Could it possibly be... guilt? No, couldn’t be. He had killed - oh, God he didn’t even want to think about how many people, and he did worse than this everyday. Besides, wasn’t he trying to get her away from him? Despite his inner crisis Vegeta found himself snatching up his supplies, book still in hand, and hopping down from the washer to throw himself on the bench next to her.

She looked up at him, eyes glassy with tears. He held the ammonia and vinegar out to her without looking up, keeping her in his peripherals and pretending to read.  
She took them quietly and set about starting the load in the washer. Bulma slumped down next to him with a heavy sigh handing him back the ammonia and vinegar, but before she let go of the bottle her head flung towards him with as shrewd a look as she could muster.

“Wait just one minute. Why the hell do you have these?” she leaned in way to close for his comfort, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. He could smell her. She smelled like cinnamon.

“Are you some sort of secret agent spy?”

Bulma stared at him with wide eyes. He sneered. Then he chuckled, then he laughed. He couldn’t help himself.

Damn, when was the last time he had honestly laughed; let everything else fall off of his shoulders, slip away, and just laughed. He honestly couldn’t remember ever laughing.

She seemed as surprised as him by his genuine laughter. After a few moments of staring up at him with those wide, blue eyes she broke the silence.

“Wow, you have a beautiful laugh, Vegeta.” A starry, eyed smile.

Damn her. Damn her to hell.

“No, Blue, I’m not a secret agent spy.” And even though he tried not to, he smiled. His ease around her was beginning to make him utterly uncomfortable. He sunk onto the bench and buried himself in his book passing the next forty minutes in its pages, without reading a single word.

Their laundry had finished at relatively the same time, which meant they both walked back up the stairs together. It filled Bulma with as much unbridled joy as it filled Vegeta with pure, unadulterated, existential dread. She hooked her laundry basket in one arm and rested it on her hip, hooking her other arm through his.

When they finally arrived Vegeta opened his door and before he could protest Bulma flung her arms around him. “Yes. I finally get to see your place.” She craned her neck to see past his mess of spiky, dark locks.

He sighed and stepped out of the way, letting her pass. Don't fight it. It's pointless. “Oh. It’s uh….tidy.” Her eyes scanned the barren apartment. There was a navy fleece blanket bunched up in the corner of the couch, she spotted a bowl in the sink. There was a duffle bag tucked in the corner behind the coach but other than that, the apartment was completely and utterly barren.

She rubbed the back of her neck gingerly. “You, uh...don’t entertain much, do you?”

What the fu-who the Hell is this girl?

“Do I look like I do?” He didn’t even bother trying to hide his irritation. He put his hand on her shoulder leading her back towards the front door. He opened it and brusquely pushed her back out into the hallway. Her look of surprise slowly melted into one of determination.

“Look woman, I know you never listen to me, but for the last time: I don’t need friends, I don’t want friends, and unless you want to get in a lot of trouble or worse, get yourself killed, STOP. BUTTING. INTO. MY. LIFE.” He paused. “Goodbye.” And with that he slammed the door. Vegeta slid down the inside of the door, rubbing his hands on his face.

“A plant. That’s what’s missing in there.”

“Damn it, Blue, go home.” He hoped she wouldn’t hear the desperation in his voice. He buried his face in his calloused hands and moaned.

He hoped she would leave, he needed her to leave, but all he wanted was for her to stay.

Funny. That’s the first time he could remember wanting anything.

This was not good.

 

* * *

 

Vegeta spent the next couple of weeks avoiding Bulma even more than he had before, but everytime he thought he had the strange fiery girl figured out she would surprise him. If there was one thing he hated more than other people it was surprises. He hated surprises. But he was becoming accustomed to her and her hallway chats. He hated that too.

As he left his apartment that morning he was surprised to find the hallway empty. For the past three weeks she had been there at the same time pretending to do things in the hallway. He saw right through it though.

He wasn't sure which he hated more. Talking to her everyday or her sudden absence. It didn't matter. Maybe she had finally taken a hint a realised he was lost cause. It would have been the first smart thing she'd done since they met.

He ignored the hollow feeling in his chest as he dragged his heavy feet from the warm apartment building into the unforgiving cold. Never admitting to himself that he had hoped to see her.

 

* * *

 

DECEMBER 23rd

Vegeta was agitated. How much longer was he going to be trapped here? Frieza himself had set up headquarters in West City for now. That was very strange. Something big was going to happen. He needed to figure out what it was. But...what he really needed was to get out of here. Soon. He found himself looking for Blue every morning. Sometimes when he let his mind wander it found its way back to her, like a lost puppy.

A gentle crunch of fine gravel disrupted his thoughts as Vegeta adjusted himself. He stretched his scarred hands and fingers, shaking out the stiffness and feeling the weight of the fingerless tactical gloves. He adjusted the sight of the scope with expert precision. Lying on his stomach, eyes trained through the scope he breathed in the frosty winter morning.

Nappa lay next to him, resting his chin on his hands. He sighed loudly. Over and over and over again.

“So….”

Here it comes.

Nappa couldn’t let silence just be. He had to rape it to death with his grating voice and his prehistoric brain.

Shit, he was so irritating.

“...Raditz and I...noticed that you’ve been in quite a mood lately.”

Vegeta shifted his shoulders.

Man, if this dick doesn’t show up soon I'm was going to wax Nappa instead. He thought.

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

He peered through the sight again pretending he was adjusting his positioning.

He wasn’t. His aim was perfect. Always was.

“Well…”

Damn it Nappa, just drop it already.

“You were sorta whistling on the way here and it wasn’t like the Jaws theme.”

Vegeta didn't miss a beat. “Had a song stuck in my head.”

“And. And you laughed. I’ve never seen you laugh and I’ve known you since you were like..five.”

“Thought of a new funny way to kill someone with a shoelace.” Vegeta still hadn’t looked at Nappa. He was pretending to wipe dirt off the chamber, polishing the already clean body of the gun with his thumb.

Just when he thought that Nappa had finally dropped the subject.

“Vegeta….did you meet a girl?”

Okay. We’re done here. He sighed his voice emotionless as he fixed his eye to the sight again “Nappa if you don’t drop the subject I promise your name will be in the papers tomorrow.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

* * *

 

It had all gone according to plan, just like it always did. Vegeta was the best of the best. Frieza had built him that way. Taking a life no longer held the same thrill that it once did. Torture came close, but still it wasn't the same. The same rush, the same fear...the same guilt. Vegeta began to wonder if a part of him, or all of him had died somewhere along the way with all of those people. He arrived home around midnight and stopped at his door. But something was wrong. He didn’t recognize anything. Maybe he had just gotten lost in his thoughts and passed his door.

06-205.

Damn. It. All. To. Hell.

He hadn’t missed his door at all. The door had simply been hidden. It was adorned in gaudy Christmas decorations. Shiny silver and green tinsel twisted around itself wrapped up the frame of the door, flashing lights, a wreath hung in the center made from fresh pine, red bulbs of different sizes hung all over the wreath, underneath the wreath was a plastic sign of cursive lettering that read “Merry Christmas” it was completely covered in red glitter and as a result red glitter now completely covered everything. The oddest decoration though was tucked into the door frame, hanging from a string some sort of branch with red berries and leaves.

He was not in the mood for this. What was this bullshit? Was this supposed to be that “Christmas” Blue was talking about? Shit. What day was that supposed to be. She said it was the 25th, didn’t she?

He pulled out his phone. It read: 12:06 am Dec 24.

Oh. Damn her. He stepped closer, pushing aside the tinsel to get to the door lock. He accidentally bumped something with the steel toe of his boot. There was a box, wrapped in bright, glittery paper. It was bright blue. Electric. Just like her eyes. And it was covered in poorly drawn grumpy faces...with spiky hair.

Funny. Wow. What a freakin’ comedian.

He lifted up the box, there was an envelope attached to it with curling silver and blue ribbons. He grumbled, looking back at her door. For a moment, just a moment he had the oddest compulsion to walk over to her door and knock on it.

No. Nope. Not happening. Not tonight.

He shook his head and pushed the key into the door, scooping up the box and the envelope and skulked in, kicking the door shut behind him. Glitter exploded from the sign, covering everything.

Vegeta sat cross-legged on one side of the couch the box, and envelope sitting on the other end. They stared each other down.

He should just throw it away. There really was no reason for him to even look at it. Attachments were dangerous. Attachments were liabilities. If he really did care for her, and he wasn’t saying he did, then he needed to cut her out of his life and fast, before anyone else found out.

As he told himself all of these things, as he tried to convince himself to hate her, he found himself leaning forward and grabbing the box gingerly almost as if it would bite him. He gently tugged on the ribbons, lifting the edges of the paper with care, and opening the lid.

He chuckled. He couldn’t help it. Damn it Bulma. He found himself smiling as he gently lifted the beautiful twisting plant from the box.

Ha. That girl.

The spiny cactus wore delicate pink flowers atop each cluster. It was planted in a ceramic flower pot that looked just like a human skull, it was almost the same size too. Vegeta turned it around and around in his hands. It felt so...odd. It felt so strange. She went out and got this just for him. It was all so weird.

He sighed and covered his face with his hand. How did he get so tangled up in all of this? He got up off the couch and walked over to the kitchen counter. It was one of the only structures in the apartment. Setting the plant down gently he rotated it so he could see it from where he slept on the couch. Then he did something he didn’t anticipate. He smiled.

Vegeta picked up the box and the string, tossing it in the trash. He debated keeping the paper but thought better of it.

He threw his sore body down on the couch just to feel something stab him in the back. Shit. That’s right, this sentimental shit show wasn’t over yet. He pulled the card out from where it had tried to lodge itself in his kidney.

The outside of the plain white envelope had swirling white letters on it. It read “Tough Guy”. He gently lifted the flap and pulled out a card. It was obnoxious and gaudy and had a smiling, fat, old guy on it.

What the hell is this?

He opened it up carefully. She had filled the inside of the card with tidy writing and little scribbles.

“Tough Guy,

I hope you like the plant! It’s a Chamaelobivia rose quartz. (I included the tag that has the care instructions) I even found you a flower pot that fits you perfectly! I know this might be strange for you since you’re from outer space. I don’t know what kind of holidays you have on Planet Vegeta but here on Earth we celebrate Christmas every December. (hehe) Our friends and families gather around and we eat delicious food and we get gifts for each other. But the most important part is being together.

My friends are like family to me. We are having a Christmas party tonight. It will be at 6224 Kame Beach Court, West City. It’s a pink house with a palm tree in the front, you can’t miss it! If you need a ride you can just text me! I would love it if you would come. You don’t have to bring anything but yourself. We would all love to see you there. No one should be alone on Christmas.

Merry Christmas.

Love,

Bulma”

He had almost been stupid enough to do it. He had already put an almost-clean shirt on and grabbed his shoes. But a soft vibration in his pocket brought him back to reality. Back to his reality.

“What am I doing?” he muttered to himself as he opened up his phone to check his messages.

Raditz has gone rogue. Looking for Kakarrot. MIA for 48. - N.

Something sour twisted in the pit of his stomach. There were no secret codes or hidden messages. It was too urgent for that, too important. Raditz was gone. He had gone AWOL. Searching for his stupid, long lost brother that he would never shut up about.

Serves him right. Vegeta would lose no sleep over Raditz. If he got himself killed that was his own damn fault. Maybe it was this Christmas thing. Blue said it was all about families and shit like that and Raditz was practically obsessed with this estranged brother of his.

Oh well.

10-4.

What else was he supposed to say? Did Nappa really expect him to run out and chase after Raditz. I mean, Vegeta was that good. He knew he could track him down easily. They had worked together for a large part of Vegeta’s life and Raditz wasn’t nearly as careful or cunning as Vegeta. It would be like following the path of destruction left by a tornado. But he wasn’t about to chase after him unless Frieza ordered it himself. Raditz had made his decision and he could live with it.

Vegeta had come to his senses, at least for now. No. He wouldn’t be joining Blue and her friends tonight. He stripped off his clothes, threw himself on the couch, and held his lumpy pillow to his chest. He tried desperately to sleep.

That night, every child in the world tossed in fits of sleeplessness wondering what the next day would hold. Every child...and Vegeta.

 

* * *

 

The light caught in the center of the gemstone orb as the man turned it around and around in his hand, his pale skin catching the light and illuminating in the dark. His sickly sweet voice carried through the stale cold air. Like the scent of rotten peaches.

“And I had such high hopes for him. Zarbon...I want you to keep a closer eye on our little prince. I want to know everything about the girl. I want them under constant surveillance. It would seem as though another one of my men thinks that they can play house in total impunity. ”

 

“Yes, Frieza, sir.”

* * *

 


	2. The Night Before Christmas

THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW

 

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

 

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

  
  


Content Warning: contains extreme violence, some language, and mention of sexual abuse

 

* * *

CHAPTER TWO: THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

* * *

 

DECEMBER 24th

 

“Bums. Vandals. Leeches.” ChiChi spat under her breath, slamming the metal bowls into the restaurant’s kitchen sink.

 

She muttered furiously, running a white rag over the marble countertops. ChiChi was left alone with her thoughts, until Goku came bounding through the back door of the restaurant like he always did. ChiChi rolled her eyes.

 

“Honey….ChiChi it’s me...Goku.”

 

“Of course it’s you. Who else would it be?” Flames licked her words.

 

Goku had been an adorable boy that had grown into a handsome man. He was tall and muscular with a mop of untameable dark hair. But of all his features, it was his eyes that she found most captivating. His dark eyes were always bright with wonder. Goku was the happiest person ChiChi had ever known, it’s one of the things she loved most about him. But, at the same time, he could be childish and clueless and far too forgiving, sometimes to the point of putting himself in danger for the sake of others. Goku was strong, he was the best fighter in the whole damn city, but that wasn’t going to keep him alive forever.

 

She shot him a look full of poison.

 

“Hey...ChiChi...what’s wrong?” a look of concern broke his gentle face, he lifted her chin with one finger, his thumb gently stroking her cheek. She pushed his hand away.

 

“I just worry, Son. I worry about you and about Gohan. I worry about how we are teaching our son to deal with conflict. I worry that one day,” her voice rose to a shout, “one day...you’re going to get yourself killed.”

 

He responded by pulling her closer into his chest, soothing her by stroking her long, black hair and resting his chin on the top of her head. He leaned against the marble counter, pulling  away slightly so they could look at each other.

 

“ChiChi, listen to me. Everything is fine. Everything is going to be fine. Things are so much safer now than they were when we were kids. Gohan will be fine. Besides, we aren’t even fighting today. It’s just a party. Why don't you come with us? I know Bulma would love to see you.”

 

She shook her head. “No, I think I’d rather stay here and close up. But,” a new fierceness in her eyes. “Gohan _better_ be home by midnight tonight or I will kill you myself, Son Goku.”

 

He laughed. It was a hearty laugh, one that shook his shoulders and tossed his head back. It was a laugh that melted away all her worries, that told her, at the end of the day, everything was going to be alright. Oh how she loved it when he laughed like that, and when he did, she knew she couldn’t deny him anything. He kissed her gently on the forehead. “Okay, okay! I promise.” ChiChi rolled her eyes.

 

_That boy..._

 

* * *

 

Goku hopped up the metal stairs to their apartment in four long strides. Once inside he tried to be as stealthy as possible, stepping over precariously stacked piles of books and broken restaurant chairs. That’s right, he still needed to repair those. He was going to have to remind ChiChi to remind him to do that.

 

He burst through Gohan’s door with excessive exuberance snatching up his son before he even had time to react.

 

“Go, I have a surprise for you.”

 

It was a bright orange shirt with their family name “Son” circled in black and white on the back. It was just like Baba’s gym uniform. It was perfect. Gohan’s heart swelled with pride. Today was turning out to be the best day ever.

 

With a swift kip up Goku hopped to his feet. “Put it on. Krillin should be here any minute.” And with a mischievous smile he added, “We’re taking the Nimbus tonight.”

 

Piccolo leaned up against the red brick wall. The air stung his face as snow fell silently in clumps around him. He took a drag off his cigarette and exhaled slowly. The night was calming down, it was Christmas Eve and nearly everyone had scurried back to their homes to escape the cold and celebrate. It was the perfect time to go out. Inhaling deeply, he spoke to the empty sky.

 

“Keep walking.”

 

While hadn’t heard anything, he _had_ felt it _._ Then came the familiar sound of a gun cocking behind him, the pressure as it pressed against the back of his neck. He continued to smoke casually, watching the snow drift to the ground.

 

“Tell me where I can find Kakarrot or I’ll blow your brains out.”

 

Piccolo didn’t seemed bothered in the slightest and continued to smoke, thoughtfully watching the snow clouds roll in.

 

“Are you deaf?” the man pushed the gun further into the back of Piccolo’s neck, linked with mild annoyance, and rolling his shoulders.

 

Piccolo turned to face the man.

 

“Go find him yourself.” With a push and a twist of his hand, he put out his cigarette on the man’s jacket. The tall, pale man smiled.

 

“Wrong answer.”

 

* * *

 

Goku couldn't have asked for a happier reunion. It had been years since they had all been together under the same roof. Tragedy had brought them together and peace had slowly pulled them apart. Nothing had been wrong with their lives necessarily except the fact that they now _had_ lives. Fighting was the only thing any of them had known. Now that there was relative peace, life had gotten in the way.

 

They arrived shortly after 6:00 pm. The old, worn house held so many memories for him and Krillin. It sat on a tiny lot, a rusty chain link fence surrounding the property. What existed of the lawn was long since dead and covered in snow, one giant palm tree erupting from the front yard. In the center of the lot sat a tiny, bubblegum pink shack. It was dingy and old, the paint peeling in sheets, but when the men saw it they saw their childhood. Bulma answered the door and greeted them with her usual cheeriness, throwing her arms around Goku and laughing.

 

“Oh my gosh. How long has it been?” Pulling away from the hug she caught sight of Gohan. She knelt down. “Well, hello there. What’s your name?” He looked to Goku, unsure and clung to his pants, wringing his tiny hands. Goku laughed and rubbed his hair.

 

“It’s okay, son. This is a very dear friend of mine.”

 

Gohan pulled his hands away from his father’s pant leg and began to wring them in front of him. Stepping forward slightly, he bowed respectfully.

 

“My name is Gohan, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“It’s so wonderful to meet you Gohan. I’m Bulma. I grew up with your daddy. Are you going to be a fighter just like him?” She smiled a sweet, affectionate smile that put Gohan at ease.

 

Gohan beamed “I'm going to be an orthopedist.”

 

Bulma was surprised.

 

Bulma looked to Goku with a look of astonishment. Goku chuckled uneasily “Oh, ChiChi doesn't let him fight.”

 

Bulma had missed this. Missed them. Tonight was going to be a good night. “Well we have a lot of catching up to do, don't we?”

 

* * *

 

Vegeta was restless. He told himself it was the weather, the hunger that gnawed at him, the work of the day. But, it was none of those things and he _knew_ that. It was her. It was that stupid plant she had given him for no apparent reason.

 

_What does she want? What’s her angle? Everyone has an angle. Everyone wants something._

 

His mind was swimming in circles. He had been laying on the couch so long attempting to sleep that his neck was beginning to ache.

 

_Maybe a run, yeah a run is what I need. Or maybe a nice fist fight._ Yeah…

 

He quickly pulled on his pants and jacket and stepped outside, running down the stairs with a new found eagerness. He opened the back door of the stairwell and stopped. He was greeted by tumultuous winds and pelting hail.

 

_Forget this shit._

 

He stomped up the stairs, more frustrated that he had been before. He convinced himself that staying inside was a matter of practicality, just like denying her invitation was. He was practical, pragmatic. Yes. That’s it. Definitely.

 

Letting out a sigh of aggravation he threw off his clothes and fell back onto the couch, facedown.

 

_Ugh._

 

This was going to be a long night.

 

* * *

 

Bulma rested her chin on her knees, she couldn’t help but glance down at her phone. Again and again.

 

“Waiting for a booty call?” Krillin teased. She smacked him.

 

“You stop that! I just invited a friend to come tonight and I was hoping he would. I don't think he has anyone to celebrate with. But it’s not looking like he will, and it’s already getting pretty late.”

 

She found her mind wandering off, looking somewhere, somewhere that wasn’t here. Her thoughts banished by a knock at the door, her heart skipped a beat.

 

“I’ll get it.” She jumped up from the couch, almost falling on her face.

 

“You do that.” Krillin teased shaking his head and taking another sip of his coffee. He watched her run out to the entryway as he listened to Roshi’s mythical story of sexual conquest. Goku was tucking the blanket back over Gohan’s shoulders when he heard the door open, then he heard nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

Something was wrong.

 

Lingering in the shadows, Goku moved silently through the dark living room to the entryway. Whoever Bulma had been expecting this was _not_ him. The tall man had his arm wrapped around her throat and a gun pressed into the side of her head. Biting her lip, letting silent tears fall from her eyes. “Let go of me you creep.” she hissed through her teeth.

 

Goku approached slowly, making himself known. He didn’t want to spook the man.

 

“Let her go.” A low voice resonated from him that Bulma didn’t recognize.

 

The man’s dark eyes flickered up to meet his and he stopped. His hard expression melted loosening his grip on her enough for her to squirm away. Goku quickly swooped in front of her, pushing her back into the living room and almost knocking her off her feet.

 

There the man stood. Motionless, silently staring at him, his expression unreadable. it had shifted to something between the darkness Goku had seen and the light he had come from.

 

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” Goku was getting closer to the man, slowly.

 

“Come now, Kakarrot. Is that any way to treat your family? And on _Christmas_. Shame on you.”

 

“I don’t know who you are, but you must have me confused with someone else. I don’t know anyone by that name. My name is Goku. And it’s time for you to leave.” The conviction in his voice was pure and strong.

 

“I’m not going anywhere. I have been looking for you for too damn long now. I'm your brother. Raditz.” Something deep inside Raditz had hoped the mention of his name would ignite some long forgotten memory inside his brother.

 

“I don’t _have_ a brother.” Rolling his shoulders forward and clenching his fists, Goku’s eyes narrowed. He was confused, the man looked not only furious, but offended. He had never seen him before in his life, he was sure of it.

 

“You must have me confused with someone else, I’m sorry.”

 

“I know _exactly_ who you are. Even if _you_ don’t!” Flinging the gun around wildly Raditz snapped back, his voice cracking with sparks of pain and rage. “My God. After all these years, all this _hell_ I finally find your sorry ass and you don’t even know who I am.” Goku’s eyes tracked his motions carefully, waiting for the right time to take it from him.

 

“What did you fall on your damn head as a kid?” Raditz was screaming hysterically.

_Well, yes._

 

_Was this a bad time to tell him?_

 

_Goku felt like it might be a bad time to tell him._

 

_Should he tell him?_

 

_He was gonna tell him_.

 

“Yes?” he answered cautiously.

 

“Are you...are you freakin’ shitting me?” the man slammed his face into his hands, “Are you serious right now?”

 

“Yes?”

 

_Why would he lie about something like that, of course he was serious.  Who even was this guy?_

 

“I fell out of a window, landed on my head three stories down when I was like four.” Goku muttered absentmindedly rubbing the back of his skull as he did so often when he was nervous.

 

“Well that explains it, you have _freakin’ brain damage_.” Raditz was losing what little calm he had left.

 

It was then that Krillin entered the small entryway from the kitchen. He was easily half the size of Raditz but stood with confidence.

 

“What’s going on here Goku?” he asked with authority.

 

“Hush. The grown ups are talking.” Raditz didn’t even look at Krillin.

 

Krillin stepped forward pulling his badge out.  “Excuse me sir, you are trespassing on private property and as an officer of the West City Police Department I’m going to have to politely ask you to leave or I will have to escort you from the premises. If you resist, you will be met with force.”

 

Before he could reach his gun, Krillin slid across the linoleum, knocking into a kitchen chair, his head colliding with the oven. Damn. He was _fast._

 

Raditz turned back to Goku “Where were we? God, your friends are so _rude._ Oh, that’s right. Why don’t you come with me, meet my employer, we can chat.”

 

“I’m going to have to say no.” Anger was swelling in Goku’s chest, rising and falling. He was trying to control it. _Why wouldn’t he just leave?_ Goku heard something move behind him.

 

_No. Not now._ He thought, his heart pounding in his chest.

 

A small sleepy voice quivering from the living room “Baba? Baba?” Goku’s eyes didn’t move from the stranger’s as he pushed his son back behind him, trying his best to keep him hidden. Goku felt Gohan tug on his pants leg, Bulma pulled him back into the living room, scooping him up in her arms and shushing him.

 

Raditz saw the small boy, clinging to his father. When he saw him what he saw was an opportunity.

 

He flipped the gun around in his hand in one swift move and threw himself forward shoving the stock into Goku’s stomach and thrusting it upwards in a powerful motion. Goku collapsed onto Raditz instantly, he would’ve gasped but his lungs seemed to have forgotten how to work. Drool spilled out of his mouth. Raditz grabbed ahold of Goku’s shoulder and drove a powerful hit into the side of his ribcage, smacking into his ribs with the stock of the gun and once again on the back of his neck. Goku felt like a thousand needles had splintered through his spine and sent sharp pain through his fingertips. The world was spinning, he wanted to throw up but he couldn’t breathe. His chest twitched frantically, desperately trying to jumpstart his lungs.

 

Raditz leaned in and whispered in Goku’s ear, “Just remember, it didn’t have to be this way. _You did this_.” He dropped Goku to the floor.

 

Following him with his eyes, silently pleading, Goku spasmed on the cold tile. He begged his body to move, to do _anything_ , but the pain was excruciating and it hadn’t faded.

 

Raditz stepped over Goku and walked straight to the sleepy boy wrapped in the woman’s arms. He knelt down in front of them. The child trembled at the imposing stranger.

 

Bulma wrapped her arms tighter around Gohan, he gripped at her sweater and buried his face in her chest. She held onto him as tightly as she could but Raditz ripped the boy from her arms with ease. Gohan began to scream, clawing at his back, reaching for Bulma and his father.

 

Goku reached out desperately, willing his body to move, to do _anything_ but all he felt was pain...pain and fear.

 

“I’ll be back in two days. We will see if you’re ready to talk then.” And with that Raditz turned and disappeared into the night.

 

* * *

 

Vegeta tried to banish her from his thoughts but everytime his mind began to wander it found itself back at her door, at her starry eyes, her honey smile. He threw himself back down on the couch after cleaning his favorite gun...for the second time. Scrunching the lumpy pillow to his chest, he wrapped his arms around it and resting his chin over the edge. It smelled like sweat and iodine. Sighing, he reached over the edge of the couch and flung his duffle bag in front of him.

 

Unzipping the pocket at the very bottom, he rummaged around until he found a familiar plastic shape. The corners of his mouth turning into the slightest smile. There were only two things he owned that weren’t practical. One paperback and this. It was his prized possession. A VHS of _Alien_. Nappa had given it to him years ago for a birthday gift. He had scoffed at the gift but no matter where he went he kept it close to him. It had been years since he had watched it or even thought about it.

 

_Tonight is as good a night as any, right?_ He thought as he stood up and popped it into the player. He watched the words slowly fade onto the screen.  He knew the whole movie by heart. _This_ was home.

 

He watched reverently for a time. Forgetting about Frieza, forgetting about the blustering winds that stormed outside his window, and even, for a short while, forgetting about _her._ He drifted to sleep to the screams of the Nostromo’s crew. Just like old times.

 

* * *

 

Adrenaline filled Goku with hot blood that heightened his senses and thickened the pounding of his heart in his chest. They trailed after him begging him to wait, to stop, to listen to reason. But he would not. Bulma had never seen Goku like this. He was quiet and he worked fast. Fishing through his old room he pulled out the bo staff that he had trained with for so many years and furiously began to wrap his hands.

 

Krillin was holding a bag of frozen peas to his swollen face, Roshi was trying to light a cigarette with shaking hands, and Bulma was furiously typing on her phone.

 

“Bulma, this is no time for that, okay?” Krillin snapped, the sound of rapid clicking was beginning to bother him.

 

Bulma shot him a look of disgust. “For your information, I’m the only one here doing anything helpful. She flipped her phone towards him and revealed a screen full of raw data. It meant absolutely nothing to Krillin.

 

He _knew_ that. He knew that _she_ knew that. He knew that she knew that _he_ knew that. Finally Krillin sighed and caved.

 

“Okay Bulma, what is it?”

 

“It’s a bracelet I designed. It has a tracker embedded in it and just before that guy took Gohan I slipped it on his wrist. I told him not to take it off no matter what. As long as he keeps it on we will be able to find him. It’s almost done running it’s programming.” This got Goku’s attention. He had stopped moving for the first time, almost out the front door.

 

“You gonna get yo ass handed to you.” a rich baritone voice cut through the darkness.

 

If Bulma, Krillin, and Roshi could’ve died of fright they would have. Goku whipped around towards the voice.

 

“Who are you? Show yourself.” Goku was like a rabid dog. More aggressive than Bulma ever remembered him being before. He was done with games.

 

Piccolo stepped out of the dark corner of the entryway and into the kitchen. His head held up high, his arms crossed lazily across his barrel chest.

 

_Him._ Goku’s eyes narrowed.

 

“What are you doing here? If you’re here to kill me it will have to wait. You see, something has come up.” Goku said as he snatched his bo and bag.

 

“Nah, it's your lucky day homes. I’m here to kill the Ice Man.”

 

“Ice Man?” Krillin echoed in disbelief. “Do you mean to tell me that that psychopath was one of _Frieza’s_ goons? _Great, just  great._ ” Krillin looked like he was about to have a stroke.   _“This day just keeps getting better and better.”_

 

Bulma had no idea what was going on. “Everybody wait one damn minute,” she yelled,  everyone froze. “What the actual hell are _you_ doing here? How did you find us? Who the hell is Frieza? What is an Ice Man?”

 

Everyone froze for a moment. When no one else spoke Krillin reluctantly stepped in to explain.

 

“Well I can’t answer the first two questions he’s going to have to help you out with that,” he said gesturing to Piccolo with his thumb. “But I happen to know a little about Frieza and the Ice Men. Frieza is one of the most prolific and powerful crime lords in the entire world, Bulma. His Ice Men are his hired torturers, hitmen, spies, loan sharks, whatever he needs them to be. They’re like human Swiss army knives. Frieza is in an entirely different league, you guys. I...I don’t mean to be negative or anything but I spend a majority of my time trying to track down these sick freaks and let me tell you, so far we don’t have anything to write home about. For some reason Frieza has set up here in West City for at least the past six months. We have no idea why, but what we _do_ know is he leaves a trail of blood and bodies everywhere he goes. His men are impossible to track. They are meticulous, ruthless. The things they do. The conditions of some of these bodies.” Krillin shivered. “There is one guy in particular. He has been taunting us, thinks he's _real_ clever.” he stopped thoughtfully, “I mean I guess he wouldn't be wrong. He has the highest headcount of any West City criminal. As far as we can tell he is the leader, he may even be Frieza’s number one man. We call him ‘The Prince’ and he is a monster. I mean we even coined the term ‘Ice Men’ because of him.”

 

Bulma was suddenly more afraid of West City than she had ever been before but she felt a little safer knowing Vegeta lived next door. “Wh-why do they call him the Prince?”

 

Krillin sighed and muttered “I really shouldn’t be talking about this.” He paused  for a moment pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb and readjusting the bag of peas on his head.

 

“So, this guy… ‘The Prince’....he has an international file and it’s a _mile and a half_ long. I swear. There are officers on the force who refuse dispatch his scenes. He’s set up here in West City since June of last year. Again, we don’t know why yet. He's been active for around twenty years so our guess is he's about forty now, maybe older. I doubt _that_ guy is him. He looked too young. We have no idea _why_ he kills who he kills. When they first came to West City we found some particularly nasty scenes. He left a paper there, ripped out quotes from a book. Turns out it was a play. Old play called ‘The Iceman Cometh’. Creepy shit too about life and death and junk. I've seen so many of his kills I could probably tell them apart from another killer in my sleep but I wouldn't need to. He _wants_ us to know it's him. Everytime he leaves a body he leaves a Feudal game piece somewhere at the scene. It’s always the same one - The Prince.”

 

“Feudal?” Goku questioned.

 

“You mean like that ancient ass tactical strategy game?” Bulma asked in disbelief.

 

“Yes. Nothing else. He’s not killing wantonly. He’s not on a spree. We think Frieza’s got him on a chain but we just don’t know. It’s all speculation at this point. For all we know _that guy could be working for him_.” Krillin realized what he had said as soon as the words came out of his mouth.

 

Goku’s voice was flat “Bulma,” he turned to her, “where is Gohan?”

 

She looked down at her phone, “It looks like he’s down at Kearney Park. He stopped moving. It’s only a few miles away.”

 

“You. You’re with me. Let’s go.” He said to Piccolo and threw the door open.

 

“We ice this bitch and thats it, this don’t change nothing.”

 

“Fine by me.” Goku replied with a playful smile.

 

With that the two men disappeared into the snowy night.

 

Bulma watched them leave, terror gripped her heart and stuck to the inside of her ribs. She was afraid. Afraid for Goku and Gohan, afraid of the Ice Men, of the Prince, afraid of the West Side. More than anything she longed to feel safe. She wished Vegeta was there.

 

* * *

 

With a violent thrust it had ended. The small boy held his breath and forced himself to swallow, waves of prickling nausea rolling over him. A clammy hand wrapped around the back of his head pulling him closer. He fought the instinct to push away. He knew he was too weak, too small to fight it.

 

_Just let it happen. It will hurt less. It’s almost over._ His mind echoed again and again.

 

After what felt like a lifetime the fingers pulled out of where they had wrapped themselves in his dark hair, the hand finally releasing him. Already on his knees he toppled forward, catching himself before his face collided with the cold marble. The man spoke casually, amusement in his voice. It slithered out of the dark like a poisonous snake.

 

“You’ll be going away for a while. Siberia. I'm sending you there to further your training. Consider this your going away present.” He straightened his tie coolly and walked away. The faint, familiar _click, click, click_ of his shoes getting farther and farther. Then they stopped. “Oh. Happy twelfth birthday, my little prince.”

 

Vegeta jolted awake, he had slid the gun from under his head, training it blindly across the room. Instinct had kicked in. He lowered it, picking up the lumpy pillow that had been wadded up against his chest with his other hand, chucking it across the room. It collided with the kitchen cupboards with a muffled _thup_. Small down feathers puffed into the air and slowly floated back down. The couch was damp from sweat. Leaning forward, he buried his face in his hands. The cold metal of his gun along his cheek provided some relief to his burning skin.

 

Static hummed on the small television. Rubbing his face he pushed the VHS back in the player and rewound it. He tried to swallow the memories, but they rose like bile in his throat. Pushing himself off the couch he stripped off the sweaty clothes that clung to his skin and let them drop to the floor.

 

He stood in front of the mirror and he saw, saw himself, what he really was. Just a scared little boy, mangled and broken, covered in ugly scars. Fire rose from his core, numbing his muscles as the flames licked at his veins and charred his bones. The stock of his gun struck the face in the mirror, shattering the image before him into hundreds of shards. He let the glass fall, turning on the sink and splashing his face with frigid water.

 

_One day. One day I’ll kill Frieza myself._ He promised silently. When he looked back up the child was gone, only the man remained in the shattered glass, made of hate and fire.

 

* * *

 

AN: Special thanks to dgschneider and Cindermane for being my valiant copy-editors and sounding board. And special thanks to Stupidoomdoodles and LadyVegeets for inspiring this fic.

 

I welcome comments so let me know what you think!

 

xoxo, the Not-So-Super Saiyan.

  
  
  
  



	3. The Promise

THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

 

* * *

Content Warning: contains extreme violence and some language

* * *

CHAPTER THREE: THE PROMISE

* * *

 

 

DECEMBER 24th

 

Raditz tossed the flailing child into the park bathroom and locked it from the outside, busting the rusted metal handle off with ease. He needed to calm down or he was going to kill the kid. Dusting off the snow and slush, he sat on a concrete table and watched the insects buzz into the light of the streetlamp above. Nothing had gone as he had planned. He had thought about this night for years. This was not how he had wanted this reunion to go but he was making it work. He was adaptable.

 

The roar of an engine cut through his sullen thoughts. It was Kakarrot. Raditz was genuinely surprised. He was used to people doing what he said, it was a benefit of being attached to Frieza’s name.

 

_Oh well. This is going to be fun. It’s been a long time since I've had fun._ Raditz thought as he walked across the snowy lawn.

 

They met in the center of the park. Staring down at each other. Goku broke the silence, fire in his voice. “Give me back my son and I’ll let you go.”

 

“You’re not really in a position to make demands are you?” Raditz laughed his head cocked playfully to the side.

 

“I really don’t want to fight you.” Goku sighed, closing his eyes, his face scrunching.

 

“You know, I wouldn’t either.”

 

“How ‘bout you shut the hell up?” Piccolo cut in as he pulled a .44 Magnum from the back of his jeans.

 

Piccolo was _done._ He was done with this bullshit. He was always done with everyone’s bullshit but this guy was just _too much_.

 

Goku sighed “If that’s how it has to be then I suppose we don’t have a choice.” He slid his hands down the staff holding it taught. Before Raditz knew what had happened Goku was behind him and Piccolo in front. He couldn't help but smile.

 

Gracefully Goku slid his right foot in front of the left, the inside of his leg turning away from him, like a poised crane, ready to strike. Knees bent, eyes trained. He was ready. With a graceful twist of his wrists the staff sliced through the air with a _fwip._

 

It was a perfect strike, one that would’ve landed on the back of Raditz’s neck. Had Raditz's hand not shot out behind him and caught the staff with a loud _smack._ Turning around it and twisting it from Goku’s grasp, he pushed it into the soft dirt and snow next to Piccolo. Raditz used it as an anchor to launch himself over the two men, landing behind them. Goku crossed his feet as he stepped back cautiously - hands up, fingers bent.

 

And for that moment, the only sound anyone could hear was the gentle buzzing of the streetlamps and the weeping of a child.

 

* * *

Vegeta avoided sleep, he told himself it wasn’t out of fear but it was and he knew that. He made a point of never looking back, but dreams tend to have a mind of their own. The past came to him in his sleep, it was the only place he couldn't steel his mind. Eventually he succumbed, still sitting upright, his heavy head cradled in the crook of his shoulder. He slipped into a fitful slumber and the memories rose like the tide under the pull off the moon.

 

Once he had lapsed under the rocking waves there was simply no escaping it.

 

The door screeched as it scrapped against the concrete. The man stepped out of the way, the light caressing his long hair. He gestured to the door with an elegant wave of his hand.

 

“Lord Frieza will see you now.” He said with a smirk, just a little too pleasantly.

 

The small boy bunched his shirt in his lanky hands, twisting it in nervous circles. He swallowed hard managing a meager nod, and wrapping his frail arms tightly around his chest he timidly stepped inside.

 

For a moment nothing happened. Just a moment.

 

He took a cautious step forward and the door swung shut behind him groaning as it locked. Whirling around in the darkness, panic overtook him. He could see no one else in the room, hear nothing else.

 

The space was incredibly confining despite being entirely and utterly empty save for a single metal chair bolted to the ground and a dim, flickering light that swung from the high ceiling. The smell of bleach and metal curled in his nostrils and burned the back of his throat. He resisted the urge to cough. Despite the sweltering summer outside, the air inside was frigid, like a meat locker.

 

“Vegeta." A voice purred from the dark. “Please, have a seat.”

 

That voice. He could never forget the sound of that voice. Cautiously he crawled onto the large metal chair, his feet dangling over the ground as he pushed himself back into the seat. The silence was almost as suffocating as the stench of bleach. He felt fingertips trail across his shoulders.

 

“I know a lot has changed for you in these past weeks, little prince.” Vegeta cringed at the name, remembering his mother, he swallowed the lump in his throat. “How are you adjusting?”

 

He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Staring into the darkness he forced the words.

 

“Well, Lord Frieza, sir.” The lies tasted bitter on his tongue.

 

“I'm _so_ glad to hear it. Are you finding your accommodations sufficient for your needs?” Frieza circled the chair slowly, passing through the light on occasion.

 

“Yes, Lord Frieza, sir.”

 

“According to your tutors your lessons are progressing quite well.”

 

“Yes, Lord Frieza, thank you, sir.”

 

“Hmmm… and yet despite all of that, it has been brought to my attention that you are having difficulty complying with even the _simplest_ of orders.”

 

The small boy froze, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. His eyes wide with panic. That man. The man Vegeta was sent to kill. He had let him go. He tried so hard but he simply couldn't bring himself to do it and somehow Frieza had found out.

 

“Well?” Frieza purred, a mixture of annoyance and amusement in his voice.

 

“I...I’m sorry Lord Frieza, sir.” His voice barely squeaking past his lips.

 

“Refusing a direct order is insubordination, my little prince.” He let the stillness close in around them, circling ever slowly. “Do you know what insubordination means?”

 

“No, Lord Frieza, sir.”

 

“It means a challenge to my authority. Simply put, disobedience. It means you've been a _naughty, little boy_.” Raw hunger dripped from Frieza’s voice, a hunger Vegeta did not understand. One that he would come to know intimately.

 

Frieza stopped in the inky shadows behind the chair. Vegeta dare not move, screwing his eyes shut as he felt hot breath tickle his ear.

 

“Do you know how I deal with insubordination amongst my men, Vegeta?”

 

“N-no, Lord Frieza, sir.”

 

“I _personally_ see to their reeducation.”

 

Vegeta's heart stopped, he fought back the tears that welled up in his eyes, but they continued to seep through his tightly clenched eyelids roll down his cheeks.

 

“Now, as much as it pains me to do this, you simply _must_ learn to _listen_.” The sound of leather tightening and twisting cut through the dark, thick silence. “We shall see if you can take orders, hmm? Stand against the wall, remove your shirt, and hold very, _very_ still.”

 

The child hurled into a panic, he looked around frantically for someone, anyone to save him. But nobody came. It was only Frieza and him. Far away from everything, hidden in a maze of hallways and stairwells, here nobody could hear him scream, hear him beg for forgiveness, or see him cry. Lifetimes passed before he could will himself to speak.

 

“Y-yes, Lord Frieza…..sir.”

 

* * *

 

Goku shuddered in the cold, sweat dripping down his skin and clumping with the delicate snowflakes that shook heavy and silent from the sky. He lunged at Raditz again his fists rolling down like pelting rain but Raditz was incredibly fast, extremely precise, and ruthless. They couldn't catch him, couldn't keep up. They were running out of options and energy.

 

Diplomacy had been the plan when Goku arrived. But he never was very good at talking. He couldn’t help but wonder that if he had been, maybe things would’ve turned out differently. Goku didn’t want to kill him. He didn't want to kill anyone. He just wanted his friends and family to be safe. But it was too late for regrets now. Piccolo had a plan, he knew that. And if Goku could just stop Raditz long enough Piccolo could end this. That was the new plan. Just slow him down long enough.

 

A flash of white-hot pain filled Goku’s vision and he fell backwards, barely managing to keep his feet. _Damnit!_ His own thoughts had distracted him and now he was pretty sure he had a broken nose. Raditz still wore the same cruel smile. Goku hadn’t landed a blow yet.  
  
“Come now, Kakarrot. You’re making this too easy. My brother ought to be a better fighter than this. You’re barely making me even try…”

 

Suddenly, Goku had a thought. He wasn’t known to be a deep thinker, and truly, he hadn’t yet consciously realized his plan, but his instinct for fighting had kicked in where his reason had fallen short. Raditz was both stronger and faster than he, so he needed to stop trying to overpower him.

 

Regaining his composure, Goku raised his guard slightly to cover his bleeding nose and tried to appear more tense. Raditz took the bait. Goku braced for the pain.

 

Having covered his face, he left his gut exposed and Raditz’s foot didn’t miss a beat - or Goku’s stomach. Goku knew he wouldn’t be fast enough to dodge the kick, so he didn’t try. What he was able to do though, was brace himself enough to not go flying.

 

He let out a yell as saliva flew from his mouth with the force of air being expelled from his lungs. Before Raditz could recover from the kick that he over-committed to, Goku managed to grasp his leg by the ankle and shin. Pivoting down to one knee and sliding underneath Raditz’s leg, he managed to flip the larger man over his shoulder. Raditz landed with a thud on his chest. Before Raditz could employ his other leg, Goku had already risen and stepped onto the back of his knee while maintaining his grip on Raditz’s other ankle. He clinched a joint lock as tightly as he could to hold Raditz down who quickly realized the futility of trying to wriggle free.

 

Advancing to take out the Ice-man while Goku held him, Piccolo stopped, caught by surprise at Raditz’s sudden plea.“Please, Kakarrot. I’m sorry. Let me go. I will leave and I will never bother you or your family again, I swear to God.” Raditz blubbered as Goku held him immobile. He almost seemed sincere, terror plainly etched onto his face as he eyed the large revolver in Piccolo’s hand.

 

Piccolo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What the hell was he playin’ at? Nobody was stupid enough to fall for that shit. He shook his head and aimed. But to Piccolo’s amazement and horror Goku slowly freed the man from his grasp.

 

“The fuck you doin’ man?” Piccolo bellowed.

 

Goku ignored him. “Now leave.” he commanded Raditz.

 

Raditz stood slowly, his shoulders heaving with spastic laughter.

 

“Holy shit, I cannot believe we are actually brothers.” he sneered as he drove his elbow deep into Goku’s side, folding his brother in half like a paper fan. A knee collided with Goku’s nose hard enough to send him reeling onto his back.

 

Raditz slammed his boot down onto Goku’s ribs again and again and again. Every thick, wet crack for every tear he'd cried for his brother, every night he'd dreamt of their parents, everyday of his miserable, pathetic life, and every memory of their childhood that _he_ carried alone. He probably would've called it cathartic if he had know what the word meant, but instead he just called it good old fashioned payback.

 

Goku wailed, his fingers clawing into soft fresh powder that covered the ground. The pain was blinding, he didn't have the strength to fight back, didn't have the strength to stop it.

 

Fortunately Piccolo could end it. Now that Goku was on the ground, he had a clear shot. Piccolo could hear the repeated _PUNG_ from the bathroom’s metal door behind them as the child threw himself against the door. The Kid was wasting his energy, there’s no way he could break the latch from the inside. Ignoring that and focusing, he leveled his gun. Just _one shot_. That’s all he needed to do him in.

 

Just as he was squeezing the trigger, something crashed into and past him, his shot firing loudly but harmlessly into the air.. Raditz yelped in surprise as Gohan collided with him, knocking him off his feet. They collapsed in a heap on the ground. As Piccolo regained balance, he noticed the bathroom door slowly swinging on its hinges.

 

_The fuck? How the hell did the kid manage that?_

 

Who _were_ these people? This was turning out to be the strangest night of his life, by far.

 

* * *

 

Goku craned his neck barely bringing his son into view. Dismay oozed into the pain in his chest, replacing the feeling with helplessness. Gohan dizzily reached for his father’s hand.

 

“Gohan. Go.” tears began to bite at the backs of his eyes, he spoke as clearly as he could. “Baba can't get up. I _need_ you to run. Run as fast as you can. Run and hide and Krillin will come and find you.”

 

“Baba.” Gohan cried as his fingers splayed, reaching for his father.

 

“Go I need you to run. Now." Goku bawled.

 

Gohan was so close, he could _almost_ reach him. Just a little closer.

 

He felt his fingertips brush against his father's as a shoe sent him reeling through the air.

 

“Well, well. You are full of surprises, aren't you?”

 

“Stop. Please. I'll do anything you ask. He's just a boy. Just leave him alone.” Goku begged.

 

“God, you're so pathetic.” Raditz hissed, kicking Goku’s face and flipping him over onto his side. Goku sputtered a bloody cough into the snow. Raditz moved away approaching Gohan, a psychotic smile on his face.

 

Goku willed himself to move with everything he had but the splintering pain in his chest kept him buried in the ice. He watched as Raditz lifted the whimpering child by the hair, inspecting him like a piece of meat.

 

 

“Mmm, Frieza will like this one.” He mused. Raditz blinked and in that moment it all changed. The child fell from his grasp and crumpled to the ground as his brother’s body smashed into him full force, wrapping his arms around Raditz and smashing the point of his forehead into Raditz’s nose.

 

Regaining his sight, the burning prickling running through his head while hot blood poured generously from his face. Raditz writhed trying to break his hold. Goku had wrapped his arms tight around him and he was not letting go. And he wouldn’t let go. Not until Raditz was dead...or he was.

 

* * *

 

Vegeta woke to the sound of clicking and scraping. It was coming from his door. Gun in hand, he slid silently off the couch and into the shadows. Someone was trying to break in, and they were doing a really shitty job at it too.

 

He exhaled and in one swift motion flung the door open and aiming his gun out the doorway at the would-be-intruder. Nappa stood there, lockpick in hand, an expression of pure, dumb shock on his face.

 

_Nappa? What the hell?_

 

“Nappa?” Vegeta hissed through clenched teeth. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He lowered his weapon and grabbed the large, bald man by his shirt yanking him inside, and slamming the door shut.

 

Nappa composed himself, shoving the lockpick in his pocket and tugging at the hem of his sweater. “Well hello to you too, little man.”

 

Vegeta hated that nickname, possibly more than he hated being called “Geets”. He had outgrown it when he was eight...about the same time he started taking point on missions. Nappa insisted on calling him that despite his constant protests and threats.

 

“Hello? What the hell were you doing breaking into my apartment?” With drowsy eyes he glanced at the faint light of the microwave clock.

 

12:43 am

 

“What are you even doing here?” he wasn’t sure if he even wanted an answer. What he _wanted_ was for Nappa to leave. He had a hard enough time sleeping as it was and Nappa had interrupted his perfectly restless sleep, probably for something stupid if he knew Nappa.

 

“I tried to call you but you didn’t answer.” When Vegeta didn’t respond he cleared his throat and continued, trying to seem as confident as possible. “We should go after Raditz.”

 

_Seriously?_ Pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and his thumb, Vegeta stifled a growl.

 

“Not happening.” _End of discussion_. Turning away from Nappa, he threw himself back on the couch, grabbing his wadded up pillow and closing his eyes. He waved nonchalantly towards the door. “Feel free to let yourself out.”

 

If his eyes had been open he may have seen the look of disgust on Nappa’s face. It didn’t matter to him, he just wanted to be left alone and be alone. Raditz had made his decision and Vegeta wasn’t going to chase after him in the blistering cold and freezing winds.

 

“What happened to you?” Nappa said with disdain in his voice. “I’ll catch you later, little man.”

 

He heard the footsteps stop at the door.

 

“Keep walking Nappa.” he muttered into his pillow. There was a brief, tense silence.

 

“Nice plant, by the way.” Nappa grumbled, slamming the door shut.

 

_Tzch._ _Good riddance asshole._

 

Vegeta nuzzled into his pillow, absentmindedly rubbing the length of the deep, delicate scars that ran across his back and up his neck. He swore he could almost taste the earthy, musty leather.

 

“Mmm. Yeah. It is.”

 

* * *

“Piccolo, do it now.” Goku screamed.

 

Piccolo smirked. _Perfect_.

 

Stepping slowly across the field his footfall crunching in the snow, he lifted his weapon to the Ice Man’s throat, twisted it and pressing it deep into his skin. Raditz stared deep into Piccolo’s eyes and fell into fits of hysterical laughter.

 

“The fuck you laughin’ at bitch?” Piccolo was so over this asshole.

 

“You don't stand a chance against the Ice Men. You barely bested me. They'll send the others. They'll send the Prince and he will kill every…last…..one of...”

 

“Fuck off, bitch.”

 

Piccolo’s arm shot back from the blast as the two man fell backwards, collapsing into the snow, the Ice Man’s head toppling to the ground. For a time nothing moved but the snow, falling slowly in large clumps.

 

It was utterly silent for a moment, but just for a moment. Piccolo stood there holding his shoulder and staring down at the bodies in the snow.

 

A wet cough broke the reverence.

 

“Pch...p….pch...” Goku gritted his teeth, struggling to speak. Whimpering in pain he clutched his chest as it gushed hot blood that melted the snow into a gruesome slush.

 

Piccolo slowly shut his eyes, breathing deeply through his nostrils to calm himself. He instantly realised what a mistake that was. All he could smell was hot, metallic blood. Turning around he looked down at the man.

 

This man.

 

The man who ruined his life. The man who took everything from him. The man who was so ready to die to save them. Piccolo had thought of nothing but his death for so long. Two years of his life had been consumed with thoughts of killing him slowly and painfully, watching the life drain from his eyes and now that he was lying there in the snow, the life gushing from his body, reaching for his young son, it was all Piccolo could do to keep from looking away.

 

Goku’s tears froze as they dripped down the bridge of his nose and across his eyelid. Trembling fingers brushed Gohan’s hair from his face.

 

“I….I’m sorry Go…” he whispered. It was becoming harder and harder for him to breathe. His lungs thick. Blood burst from his mouth, staining the pure white snow and covering his face and throat. His eyes wandered, searching for man who had fought beside him.

 

“P...pch...Piccolo…..Piccolo... _Please._ I….I...promised her. Promise…..you’ll...k-keep….him….safe.” Goku’s eyes fluttered and his breaths were shallow now.

 

Piccolo understood but said nothing. He nodded solemnly, lifting Gohan from where he lay in the snow,and pulling him from the faint grasp of his father, he turned and left without looking back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my wonderful copy-editors dgscheider and Cindermane and a very special shoutout to Hanko for helping me with the fight scenes! 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think so don't be shy!


	4. The Golden Dragon

THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

* * *

 

Content Warning: contains violence some language

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR: THE GOLDEN DRAGON**

* * *

 

 

DECEMBER 25th

 

ChiChi threw the rag angrily into the wash bucket. She was going to  _kill_  Goku. He hadn't returned the night before and she had heard nothing since. It was nearly evening now. The restaurant had closed only five minutes ago. She was opening a box of takeout chopsticks that had arrived earlier that day when she heard the bell. She must have forgotten to lock the door. Damn.

"I'm sorry, we just closed." She said politely, switching on her hostess.

"Hey Chi." She recognized the voice. It was Krillin. She turned around.

"Oh, hi Krillin." She smiled warmly at him. "What are you doing here?"

He was twisting a bracelet around and around in his hands, nervously. His expression was solemn. ChiChi felt her heart flutter in her throat. Her mind began to race, it looked like Bulma's. Had something happened to Bulma? Oh, no.

"Krillin? What's going on?" a wave of panic washed over her. Something was wrong, very wrong. For the first time since he entered his eyes met hers, they were full of sorrow and regret.

"Chi, you better sit down. There is something I need to tell you."

_No._

_No._

_No, no, no, no._

"Chi. I….I don't know how to tell you this." tears were welling up in his eyes. "Last night...at Kame House we were attacked. A man claiming to be Goku's brother came and he took Gohan. Goku and Piccolo, of all people, followed him. A fight ensued." Krillin swallowed hard. "Right now Gohan is presumed to be alive. We are looking for him now. We think he is either with Piccolo or on foot alone in the surrounding area. But, Chi...Goku. He was," Krillin broke her gaze, screwing his eyes shut. He couldn't look at her. "He was injured during the fight. He is still in surgery right now. I'm here to take you down to the hospital. We...we need to hurry."

"...no….n-no…." She whispered quietly, her shaking hands covering her mouth. Silent tears streamed down her face. Krillin slowly walked around the counter and wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm so sorry Chi." He whispered. "I'm so sorry."

 

* * *

 

 

Gohan felt cold water hiss and spray over him, burning and prickling his skin. He was thrown mercilessly into reality from the dreamless sleep he had been floating in. Gasping, he opened his eyes. He felt stiff and sore. Nothing around him was familiar, a dirty pink bathtub and a thin yellow trim lining the walls and a popcorn ceiling. Lights flickered about him. Where was he? His eyes rolled around sleepily.

"You been out for a day already. Wake up." he heard a deep voice bellow from outside the tub. He turned to see Piccolo standing in the entry to the bathroom, taking a drag off a cigarette.

Gohan was terrified. He wanted to be brave just like Baba or smart just like Mama. He wanted to ask questions. Why was he here? What happened to Baba? Who was this man and why were Gohan's clothes covered in blood? Was it blood? Where was Baba? He had  _just_  been here. He began to bawl.

"Shut the hell up." Piccolo responded forcefully. Gohan stopped himself, the tears still falling silently.

"Your dad is dead, kid. You gonna crash with me now."

Before he could register what he had just heard Piccolo tossed him a rough, scratchy towel and left the room. "Here, clean off."

Gohan used the bar soap and cold water to wash his clothes, he rang them out and hung them over the curtain rod with care. Stripped down to his underwear and wrapped in the towel, he ventured out of the bathroom. The small house smelled like mildew and cigarette smoke. It was beginning to give Gohan a headache but he was  _not_  about to tell this man that. He found the man lounging on the worn couch in the den smoking and watching television. Gohan stood silently at the edge of the couch watching him for a time.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed but his feet were beginning to feel sore. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"Hello, mister, sir…" Gohan didn't even know who this man was.

"Piccolo." he responded tentatively. This kid was a strange one.

"Mr. Piccolo, sir, how did my father die?"

It looked as though Piccolo either hadn't heard him or simply wasn't going to respond. After a moment he leaned forward, put out his cigarette and turned off the television.

"Went down with the Ice Man." He leaned forward and spoke without looking at the child. Gohan thought for a moment, tears welling up in his eyes, he tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Did….did he die fast or did he hurt a lot?"

Piccolo trained his eyes forward. He couldn't look at the kid. Instead he hoisted himself off the couch and stood in front of Gohan. Piccolo could've rested his hand on top of the kid's head without lifting it at all. If he was gonna survive out here he was gonna need to toughen up. He tossed a fleece blanket to Gohan and nodded to the couch.

"Go to bed kid. It's late."

Gohan had so many questions. Hadn't he just woken up? Why did Mr. Piccolo want him to go to bed again? He  _was_  still sleepy. What was going to happen to Mama? When was he going to go home? Did she know where he was? What about Baba? He curled up on the worn out couch and cried. He cried until he slipped back into a dark, dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

DECEMBER 26th

Vegeta trailed his fingers along the back of Steven's neck, bringing the man back from the edge of unconsciousness and into a world of pure terror and pain.

"I just want you to know Steve, I'm very disappointed in you." Vegeta taunted him.

The small, frail man broke into snivelling cries, begging for his life. Vegeta grabbed the back of his hair and wrenched it back violently.

Steven felt the broad side of a cold blade trace the contours of his throat, twisting slightly - just enough to slice through the first layer of skin. Vegeta slowly walked around to face the man. He smiled down at him in the flickering light. He lifted the knife up to his lips and licked the blade clean of the blood dripping from it.

"Did you think you could just  _forget_ what you owe Frieza, Steven?"

The man shook his head, continuing to sob.

Vegeta leaned in and whispered in his ear  _"Did you think you could hide from_ _ **me**_ _, Steven?"_ He stood above the man, a cruel smile twisting his face. "I'm going to enjoy this." He grabbed ahold of Steven's bloody face, ready to end the man's life in the twist of his arms. But something strange happened. In Steven's blue eyes he saw something. Something more than pure terror. He saw  _her_ and in that moment he thought of her and nothing else.

_What would she think? What would she say? What would she feel? Would she be terrified of me? She would be so disappointed in me._

The echo of quiet whimpers brought Vegeta back to the cold, damp shed. He shook his head.

"You know what, Steven? I'm feeling generous tonight. I'm going to give you a second chance...but it's going to cost you."

Steven nodded as vigorously as he could. "O-oh...okay.."

"I'm going to break both of your legs, Steven and I'll be back for Frieza's money in a week."

Steven collapsed into blubbering thanks and praises.

"Don't thank me just yet."

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta had gotten carried away. He refused to believe he was compensating for his mercy. But...that's exactly what had happened. He cursed as he trekked through the snow, nursing two split knuckles that had refused to stop bleeding. He had to take the long way home through the snow storm. He wasn't exactly inconspicuous, covered in a mix of his and Steven's blood. Steven had been generous enough to lend him his shirt, though. Vegeta wrapped his hand in the already bloody shirt and shoved it into the pocket of his hoodie.

He had managed to slip in and out of the shadows and make it all the way to his door without any incident. Unfortunately for him and his swollen hand, he wasn't quite fast enough.

He heard a door open behind him.  _Shit_. Then the familiar melodious voice. "Vegeta. Hey."

He tried to slip into his apartment before she could make it to him but she was too damn fast.  _Literally skipping_  across the hall. He shoved his hand further in his pocket, looking up at her, his eyes filled with crazed ire.

She smiled at him. It was like honey dripping from a comb, glistening in the sun. He almost felt something begin to warm inside of him.

"What?" he hissed back at her.

"Oh." her face fell into a gentle pout of genuine concern. "Vegeta, are you alright?" Her hand reaching out for his shoulder.

He pulled away before she could reach him.

"I'm fine. What do you want?" He was clearly not fine. Even he could hear it in his own voice.

She looked genuinely worried now. "Oh I just needed your help with something but don't worry about it if you're busy I can probably take care of it...but...are you  _sure_ you're okay?"

What? What was happening? She was giving him an out and he was still standing there, now instead of glaring, his shoulders relaxing, he was just staring at her like a total moron. He rubbed his good hand over the back of his neck.

"Uh...what did you need?" It was almost inaudible.

Her face relaxed into an open smile, calm and delicate like still, cool waters. As he met her eyes he noticed they were red and swollen, like she had been crying. He felt an odd sensation in his chest.

"Well, I have to go down to the south end of West Side and I was hoping you would come with me. I'm just not so sure about going alone at night."

He absentmindedly pushed the door open and then remembered why his hand had been in his pocket in the first place. Pain shot up to his elbow, he inhaled sharply and let his head hit the door.

"Shit." he hissed hearing a small voice squeak behind him.

"I'm sorry. It's okay. Don't worry about it."

"What?" He turned around to face her. She was….what was she? Sad? Ashamed? Annoyed? Oh. He thought she was…"Oh. No. No. Blue. I...Look." He panicked and pulling the shirt from his fist he shoved his hand towards her. "I just...I gotta patch this up first and then we can go, okay?" The split, raw knuckles did not elicit the response he thought it would.

"Oh my god Vegeta. What happened? Let me see? Do you need me to take you to the hospital? You need to get stitches. I'll call a friend and they can drive us. Or we can use my bus pass to-"

"Woah...woah...Blue slow down." she stopped and looked at him wide-eyed. "No. No hospitals. I don't  _do_  hospitals. I have everything I need inside I just have to patch it up and then I'll take you to south end, okay?"

She nodded weakly. Tears welling up in her eyes, she still hadn't taken them off his shredded hand.

"Do...do you need help?"

He couldn't help it. He chuckled. "No. I'll meet you at your door in about an hour." She nodded hesitantly and they parted ways.

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma knocked on his door forty five minutes later. That hadn't been the plan, he should've known she couldn't wait a whole hour. Honestly, he was surprised he was surprised.

"Ommiiiinnnn" he muttered as he walked towards the door, pulling on the medical wrap with his teeth to tighten it. He was wearing the nicest shirt he owned. It was still nothing more than a black shirt, but it hugged his frame a little tighter, the neck scooped a little lower, and the fabric was a little softer. Plus, it was  _freakin' clean_.

He opened the door and there she was. She was positively radiant. She was wearing a yellow dress with red tights and black boots, a deep blue scarf draped around her neck, some sort of grey knit sweater hung loosely around her small, curvy frame. She wasted no time pushing her way into the apartment and gently clasping his hand, her eyebrows knit in concern.

"How is your hand feeling? Are you okay? Are you  _sure_  you don't need to see a doctor?"

"Woah, Blue, slow down. Look. It's fine. Isn't even bleeding anymore." He smiled his crooked smile. Her heart fell in her chest, her knees weakened. She fought the urge to bite her lower lip. He held out his fist to her and flexed his fingers. "Now let's go."

 _Maybe_  if his hand had not been throbbing so much,  _maybe_  if he had not been so captivated by her radiant energy and her smell, like sarsaparilla and cinnamon -  _maybe_  he wouldn't have left his phone sitting on the bathroom counter amongst the wadded up bloody towels.  _Maybe_  he would've heard it vibrate repeatedly as he locked the door.  _Maybe_.

 

* * *

 

 

They walked through the flurries in silence. It was the first time the two of them had been  _intentionally_  alone together. Bulma couldn't help but stare at him. His olive cheeks flushed in the frigid air. He wore what he always wore, a black shirt and the same pants. Today he wore black high-top Converse instead of his tactical boots though. He was wearing a scarlet wool bomber jacket. His eyes slowly shifted from the path in front of them.

_Uh-oh. He noticed. Quick. Start a conversation. Oh. Ask him about his jacket. That's a good idea._

"I really like your jacket. I've never seen one quite like it. Where did you get it?"

_Oh my goodness you sound so stupid what are you doing?_

He inhaled the icy air sharply. It had been a long time since he had thought about  _that._

"Novosibirsk." he almost whispered.

He hadn't thought anything about the jacket when he put it on, but now that she asked, he could've sworn he could smell the stale musk of the warm chapel. He blinked, he had almost seen it there, out of the corner of his eye, golden luk, scarlet door, bustling traffic moving around it.

He did not need to think about Siberia,  _especially_  not now. He had been dropped off there in the dead of winter, though it wouldn't have mattered, it was always bitterly cold in Siberia. Frieza had given him no money, no credits, no documents, and no travel arrangements. Only the clothes on his back, which happened to be nothing more than a t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and some worn out sneakers.

And the jacket? It had happened in the dead of night. A drunk attacked him. The smell of alcohol strong on his breath and clothes. Vegeta probably would've run, he probably could have beat the man with his fists alone. But the man looked so warm and Vegeta was  _so very cold._

Vegeta had stabbed the man to death. He would never forget the look in his eyes as the life drained from his body into the ice and slush.

 

* * *

 

 

_Maybe this wasn't so bad. Good idea, Bulma. Yes. Keep going._

"Where is Novo...isibirk?...Your jacket looks really fancy. How much was it?"

"Uh. Its in Siberia...I acquired it from an... acquaintance there. He...no longer needed it." He shifted uncomfortably, his mind winding through the alleys of Novosibirsk.

"Oh my god." Bulma leaned in uncomfortably close as they plodded through the slush. She narrowed her eyes and whispered loudly. Almost too loud to be a whisper.

"Did you  _kill him?"_

Vegeta's eyes trained directly on the road in front of him. "I would tell you...but then I'd have to kill you."

She was trying to read his expression. His eyes darted sideways towards her. Oh. My. Goodness. Was he trying to joke? She burst into fits of giggles.

"You." She pushed him playfully, pushing herself backwards in the process and almost falling into a snowbank. His arm shot out of where it had been wrapped tightly around his body and wrapped itself firmly around her waist. He had pulled her in close, instinctually. They both froze. Staring at each other, sharing the same breath under the snowy twilight.

Slowly he loosened his grip on her waist and she stood the remainder of the way up.

_God that was a close one._

Why was she so dizzy? She could feel her heartbeat in her fingers, she brushed her damp, blue tresses from her eyes. Vegeta was the first to break the silence this time, surprising them both.

 

"So Blue, where are we heading?" He pushed through the sudden bout of lightheadedness and looked away from her, focusing intently on the slushy sidewalk.

"To see a friend. her restaurant is down on 16th street."

Why did she seem so sad?

"16th?" he replied in disbelief. They were going to be walking for a while.

"I know. I know.The buses are just so gross here and I thought it might be nice if we enjoyed ourselves while we are there. Not everything is about  _ruthless efficiency_ , you know?" She said it in a funny accent pointing her finger to the sky and shaking it.

"There is nothing wrong with being efficient." An awkward silence hung over them. Why did this all feel like it was all going to end so very, very badly?

"Vegeta, what do you do for fun?" she asked.

_Quick. Think of something. Lie? No. Play it off. Be cool. Yeah._

"Work." he heard his own voice, he sounded defensive and embarrassed.

_Smooth. Very smooth, player._

She was quiet for a short time thoughtfully nibbling on her lower lip.

...

He nodded once silently in response.

_Anything to get away from this conversation._

 

* * *

 

 

They walked in relative quiet until they reached an ornate Oriental-styled building with golden Chinese dogs in the front. The sign atop the restaurant read "The Golden Dragon" and a small sign in the window flickered "CLOSED".

Vegeta held the door open and they entered. The sweet smell of citrus and vinegar drifted towards them as they walked into the warm restaurant. Traditional erhu music played through the crackling speakers in the ceiling. The floor was an old gaudy green carpet, a stark contrast to the beautiful front counter, made of immaculate marble and the dark, cherry wood fixtures. Bulma stepped forward and rang the small bell on the countertop three times.

A petite Chinese woman stepped out from behind the bar. She was composed and graceful. Her hair was cut straight across in the front and tied tightly in a bun at the top of her head, jade beads delicately swaying from the back of it as she walked. She wore an ornate red qipao, her small hands folded in front of her as she walked. When she saw them her face lit up. "Bulma! You made it!" She practically jumped on Bulma and buried her face in her neck. They were both silent for a moment. Vegeta waited. Watched. He had no idea what was going to happen. Then the woman began to sob.

"Bulma….Bulma…." Bulma rubbed the woman's back, squeezing her tight. Vegeta found their embrace very uncomfortable and awkward. What were they  _doing_? He couldn't help but look away, shifting back and forth on his feet.

"Shhh….it's okay….Chi it's okay…...I'm here….."

"They took him….Krillin said they took him and we…..we can't...find him...and Goku...he….." the woman buried her face in Bulma's neck again "He came out of surgery only a few hours ago. They stabilized him for now but they don't know if it will….last. He hasn't woken up, they say they….aren't...sure….if..."

Vegeta was trying to piece together what was going on. When the woman opened her eyes and their gazes met. She froze, wiping her tears and pulling away from Bulma.

"Oh. Sorry Chi, this is Vegeta. He came here with me so I wouldn't have to travel alone. He's a good friend of mine."

 _Good friend, huh? That's a new one._ Vegeta fought the urge to scoff.

"Why don't we all sit down?" The woman said with great composure, as if she hadn't just been falling to a thousand tiny pieces in Bulma's arms just moments before. She waved her hand gracefully to a booth with a round cherry wood table, the cushions were upholstered in green and red leather.

"Would you like anything to drink? Tea? Water?" Vegeta and Bulma both declined and they all sat down, Bulma and Vegeta sitting on one side, ChiChi on the other.

Bulma tenderly reached out and set her hands on top of ChiChi's. "Chi, we are going to find him. I promise. He is a  _strong boy_  and he's a  _smart boy_. He's going to make it. I just know he will."

_Boy?_

So this wasn't a man they were talking about, it was a child. Something sour wiggled around in Vegeta's gut. ChiChi's composure broke, biting down on her lip she crumbled into sobs, her face resting on the back of her knuckles.

"What if...what if he's already dead? What if Goku never wakes up? They stabilized him but they won't tell me  _anything_. I don't know if he's ever going to come back  _home._ " The word almost got caught in her throat on the way out.

Bulma began to cry with her.

Vegeta had no idea what to do. He had been uncomfortable with their embrace, now he was ready to crawl under the table. He really didn't know what was going on, or what was expected of him. Trying to piece the story together as best he could from the heaving sobs and broken sentences, he looked anywhere but at the two women.

A child, this woman's child had been taken, kidnapped. Someone else was in critical condition in the hospital. These people were her family. He didn't know how it happened or how they were related though.

Vegeta didn't really know anything about family either. He remembered very little of his own. He was not equipped for this. He just sat there looking at his hands, trying to listen to what was going on, not knowing how to respond to any of it or if he should at all. Bulma slammed her fist on the table, pulling him out of his own mind and his focus.

"It's so stupid that no one is doing anything to get him back. The cops in this city are so useless. If Goku wasn't in the hospital, he'd march right over there and kill that guy himself."

Vegeta was now even more confused. So they  _knew_  who had kidnapped the kid _?_  What the hell was going on here? If this was about a ransom, now  _that_ was something Vegeta had experience with. If someone important took the kid he would know them and how to find them.

ChiChi shook her head sullenly "There's nothing we can do Bulma. You're no fighter and even at my peak I'm not a match for these people. After what they did to Goku I'm not sure any of us stand a chance. And this Piccolo guy. No one knows anything, and that's assuming he  _is_ the one who took Gohan. It could very well have been one of those 'Ice Men'. We have no idea. We just have to hope that Gohan can escape or that Goku can get better and...and go after him." She fell back into her sobs letting her emotions wash over her.

Huh. Piccolo the "Demon King." Big Fish, Little Pond. King of the South End. The most infamous thug in West City. He used to run all of West Side until one of the Z Fighters had whipped him into the south end. This was part of where they got their reputation from. Since then he swore he'd kill every last one of them and their families. It wasn't exactly a secret.

The Z Fighter were a loose group of karate bums that fought off threats who tried to terrorize the city. Vigilante justice type bullshit. Fight for the greater good junk. There were probably only like five or six of those guys.

Vegeta knew almost everything there was to know about the big players in West City. He knew the big players in every city he had ever set up in.

Finally, there were the Ice Men. The Ice Men weren't West City natives. They were everywhere. They operated in the shadows, torturing and killing those who crossed their master. Obedient dogs, ruthless killers. The Ice Men had a foothold in every major city across the entire world. They would appear out of nowhere and disappear as suddenly as they had arrived, just long enough to strike fear into the hearts of every person they left alive. Vegeta was the best, the most ruthless, and the most notorious of them all. None of these small fish were ever of any real concern to Frieza or the Ice Men, though Vegeta and his team had been briefed on the Z Fighters upon their arrival. They were to monitor the street gang and snuff them out if they got too powerful. Reconnaissance was Raditz's job though, and Vegeta himself knew few details about the Z Fighters. Raditz had been on recon when we went AWOL. He would have to ask Raditz more about them when he finally showed back up again. All Vegeta knew was they had a strange alliance with powerful players and that what a problem. A big problem. But so far, Frieza had seen fit to leave them be. Vegeta was certain that would not always be the case.

Drumming his fingers on the table absentmindedly, he became keenly aware of the heavy silence penetrated only by and the string music floating through the air. The two women stared at him.

_Shit. What did he miss?_

"Hmm?" was all that came out of his mouth.

ChiChi sniffled and spoke with a motherly tenderness, though she didn't seem to be much older than him. "Oh, I just wanted to know if you'd like a Tsingtao."

"Oh, yeah. Sure." Grumbling and looking away. He felt more awkward than he had before.

ChiChi excused herself and came back with three cold bottles of beer. They were all silent for a time. The silence was thick and heavy. This whole thing wasn't sitting right with Vegeta. It was making him think of things he hadn't in a long time. He would've preferred they had stayed in the back of his mind, buried in layers of ash and snow.

"Krillin says he might even be with whoever that man was working for. Freezer, or something. Another one of these Ice Men, he called them. But when I asked about them he wouldn't tell me anything."

Vegeta nearly choked on the sour swallow of beer in his mouth. They looked at him questioningly.

"Ice Men?" he coughed quietly.

_Uh oh. Uuhhhh ooooohh. This was bad. Very bad._

Bulma stepped in to explain. "Yeah, they are like hit men or something. The man who did all of this was apparently one of them. Krillin said he probably worked with this other guy 'The Prince'." Looking to Vegeta, Bulma's face twisted in utter disgust. "He's a monster, Vegeta."

He suddenly felt sick. He fought the urge to push the beer away, the smell making him more nauseous.

_Yeah, he is._

"What did this guy want with you anyways?" he questioned as casually as he could. It was hard for him to imagine Frieza ordering a hit on someone like Bulma.

"He claimed to be Goku's brother; called him Carrot Top or something and when Goku told him he wasn't the same guy he lost it he took Gohan, Goku and ChiChi's son, and ran off."

_Carrot Top?...Kakarrot. Holy shit. Raditz._

"The Ice Men don't have him." the words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them.

_Shit._

Bulma eyes widened, the two women leaning in intently and waiting for an explanation.

"How do you know?" she finally questioned.

_Shit._

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

"I just do. I make it my business to know things like that."

_Vague and suspicious as fuck. Good job, genius. Quick. Fix it._

"They don't kidnap children."

_Not entirely true. Hello? You. Digging the hole deeper, moron._

"He won't be that hard to find."

… _.Fuck._

He cleared his throat awkwardly. What was wrong with him? Why did she have this effect on him? Before he knew what was going on he heard the words escaping his mouth.

"How long?"

_Stop talking. Just stop._

"Excuse me?" ChiChi and Bulma shared a look of surprise. Vegeta seemed as though he was looking past them, like he was seeing something else entirely.

"How long has the child been missing?"

"Oh." The two of them looked at each other, exchanging the same surprised expression. ChiChi cautiously continued "It's been more than a day now."

"I need to know how many hours."

"Oh...uh, let's see...mmm..Twenty seven, now. Why?" Vegeta took another swig of his beer.

"How old?" his voice was dark and flat, entirely empty, hiding the rising tide of emotions beneath it.

"He's only seven." ChiChi's voice cracking as she spoke. Vegeta winced. He tried to keep it hidden but they saw it. It ignited that part of him. That part that died all of those years ago. Burned alive in the fire. He turned to her and looked her directly in the eyes with a piercing ferocity.

"ChiChi, I am going to ask you some questions. You will answer as honestly as possible and to the best of your ability. If you lie I will know. Some of these questions may sound strange. Answer them anyways. Do you understand me?"

Bulma looked at the familiar face but saw a man she did not recognize. ChiChi was taken aback. She nodded.

"Oh...okay. Yes."

"I need a paper and a pencil." Bulma didn't respond but quickly turned to her purse and rummaged around until she found a chewed up pencil and a small notepad. Flipping to a blank page and smoothing down the crackling pages, she passed it to him and took a deep drink of her beer. She was going to need it.

Vegeta began his interrogation of ChiChi. Asking all sorts of questions. Some seemed relevant. Some did not. Everything from "What school does he attend?" to questions like "When was the last time you saw him?" to "Is there anything special that the two of you say to each other or do? Something only  _you_ would do?"

ChiChi answered all of his questions and Vegeta scribbled furiously on the pad of paper. Bulma finished her first beer and ChiChi had silently passed hers to her friend. Bulma accepted without a word and polished it off quickly. She went behind the counter for a third. She walked past Vegeta, he had only written down a few things and it just looked like swirlies or something.

"Vegeta. What, does that even say?" she tapped the paper with a slight lack of coordination. Her inability to hold her alcohol showing. She had only had  _two_ beers. He looked up at her with a crooked eyebrow. He saw her face then smiled that devilish smile.

What the hell did  _he_ think was so funny?

"It's... shorthand so nosy little shits like you can't read my notes." He lifted her fingers off the paper. She hadn't even realised they were still on it.

"Oh. That's pretty smart." She plopped back down in the booth and nursed her third bottle of Tsingtao. ChiChi and Vegeta continued to talk. The spoke long after Bulma had fallen asleep on the table.

Bulma woke up to ChiChi handing Vegeta a photograph. She heard his voice grow hoarse. "Know this, I cannot promise anything to you. But I will  _try_  to get your son back."

ChiChi pulled tighter on the strings of her composure, pushing violently back against the tears that stung her eyes and nose.

"I don't have a lot to offer you. This restaurant was my father's whole fortune and it was my entire inheritance. All we have is Gohan's college fund but I'd be more than-"

"I don't want your money."

He could not believe what he was doing. What the HELL was he doing? What was he thinking? He didn't feel anything for the kid, right? He didn't even know the kid. So what was he doing?

He was diving straight into the deep end of Shit River.

Bulma reached out and put her hand on his scarred forearm, her mop of tresses still firmly planted on the glossy, wooden table. "Time for bed, tough guy." He smirked at her then looked back at ChiChi.

"I better take Bulma home." He stood and folded the picture of Gohan and his tiny page of scratch notes, putting them in the back of his wallet. "I will be in touch."

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma felt a rush of icy wind on her face, she turned away and into something solid and warm. She nuzzled into it.  _Mmmm, it smelled so good._ What was that smell? Cedarwood? Yeah, it smelled kind of like cedarwood and iodine.  _Hmm._ Odd combination. She rubbed her face into the fabric letting the back of her hair take the brunt of the cold.

Even though the night air was frigid, she was oddly comfortable. She fell peacefully into the rhythm that rocked her back and forth.  _Motion of what?_  She lifted her heavy head and opened her sleepy eyes. There he was, bathed in yellow light. He looked on, an odd expression of consternation on his face. He was...carrying her? She buried her face in his chest. She never wanted this moment to end.

That's when they stopped moving. She lifted her gaze. They were getting on the bus. He carried her to the back and cradled her, leaning against the corner, resting his head against the cold metal handrails. She stirred. "Mmmm."

"Shh. Go back to sleep. We're on the bus, heading home."

She fished sleepily in her pockets and clumsily pulled out her phone squinting against it's bright light in the darkness. She awkwardly plugged a pair of headphones into the phone, putting one in her ear and handing the other to Vegeta without a word.

He hesitated but accepted it. She started a playlist and then snuggled back into him, breathing him in.

He gingerly accepted the headphone. He had a pair he used as a surveillance tool but he had never actually used them for listening to music. Her music was soft and gentle. Sweet, like her. He listened intently to the song float through the headphone

_"We'll do it all. Everything. On our own."_

Is this what life was like? Is  _this_  what he had been missing? He rubbed his hand back and forth on her back. It didn't make any sense. Why should sitting next to another person do this to him? None of this made any sense. He supposed it didn't have to. At least not now. He slumped back into the seat of the bus, closed his eyes, and tasted the moment.

When he was sure she was asleep he lifted up the phone. There were so many little images on the display he wasn't sure how to work it exactly. He had never used a phone like it before. But he recognized the 'back' and 'forward' buttons from Nappa's car radio. He toggled cautiously back to the beginning of the first song to listen again, playing it over and over until the bus had stopped. There was something about it, about this moment. He didn't want it to end. He closed his eyes again and rested his face gently in her mess of blue hair.

" _If I lay here, if I just lay here. Would you lie with me and just forget the world?"_

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta checked her phone when they arrived at the bus stop down the street from their complex. 3:17 am.

 _Shit_.

He rolled his neck and straightened his back. She was still asleep. He pulled out the headphones and wrapped them up tight, putting them back in her pocket along with her phone. He gently lifted her and carried her back up to her apartment. Shifting her in his arms, he dug her keys out of her purse. It wasn't hard, they were covered in bobbles and useless keychains.

Hmm. Sentimental. It was very...Bulma. He unlocked her door and brought her inside. Locating her bed, he flicked her closet light on with his elbow and set her down gently on top of the blankets. Timidly, he removed her shoes and placed a blanket on top of her.

He watched her for a short time. She looked so incredibly peaceful that she almost looked dead. He would have given anything to feel peace like that. How did she do it? For for a moment, just a moment he thought of what life might have been like…

He moaned, running his hands over his face. He turned to leave when he heard a quiet whine from the bed.

"Wait." she could barely keep her eyes open as she felt for him.

"Go to sleep Blue. You need to sleep off your night of binge drinking." He taunted her.

"Please, don't go." Something caught his eye, a glimmer of yellow light from the closet that bathed her face. Tears dripped down from her closed eyes, speckling her eyelashes, like constellations. They rolled gently across the bridge of her nose and pooled in her hair, dampening the pillowcase.

"Blue, I," his voice broke "I can't stay."

"Please, Vegeta." her whisper barely escaped her rosy lips, her fingers brushed gently against his. He didn't respond, just brushed her hair from her face, leaned in close and gently pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes, breathing her in. He didn't want to feel anything but this very moment. He could feel her moving her head. She leaned in and tenderly touched her parted lips to his. There it went again, like a dying bird in his chest struggling to fly away, tethered to the ground. Struggling for life.

He wanted to stay there in that moment forever. Where everything else melted away and nothing else mattered. But he knew he couldn't, he felt a crackling sickness drip from the back of his mind and spread through his body, so instead he pulled away. Slowly, her fingers fell from his as her eyebrows relaxed and her breathing slowed. He lifted his hand from her face and turned to leave.

"Good night Bulma." he whispered as he disappeared into the darkness.

He was tethered to that bird, the bird that was struggling for life. It was still there back in her apartment. Caged by the side of her bed and he could feel it threatening to burst out of his chest. He reached his door, pushing his key into the lock he felt it swing open before he had even turned the key.

It was as if someone had dumped cold water on his head.

He pulled the gun swiftly out from the back of his jeans, flicking off the safety. He pushed the door open, gun trained. Nappa was sitting on his couch, he jumped to his feet, hands in the air.

"Nappa. What the hell are you doing here?" There was poison dripping from Vegeta's words. He was getting tired of the games and  _really_  tired of Nappa. If Nappa thought he could just waltz in and out whenever he wanted he was wrong.

"Me? Where the hell were  _you_? We had a job to do."

"Since when?"

"Since earlier today. I noticed you neglected to take  _this_  with you on your little play date." he tossed Vegeta his phone. Vegeta caught it with one hand, gun in the other. He slid the phone down in his pocket and placed his hand back on the gun.

"For God's sake Geets put the damn gun down."

He made no move to lower his gun.

"I'll give you three seconds to get out of here Nappa before I blow your brains out."

"God. What crawled up your pussy and died? Look, I'm just trying to look out for you, man. Raditz is dead. Got his fucking head blown off looking for his brother. And...you're slippin'. You better get it together before Frieza catches wind or someone is going to have to pay for your mistakes." with that Nappa snatched up his jacket and left.

That night Vegeta dreamt of Bulma, her ocean eyes and honey lips, and of cold marble and cold, clammy hands.

 

* * *

 

 

 Special thanks to Hanko and Cindermane for being my valiant copy-editors and sounding board. Praises be to Stupidoomdoodles and LadyVegeets for inspiring this fic.

I welcome comments so let me know what you think!

xoxo, the Not-So-Super Saiyan.


	5. The Blue Falcon

For those of you who don't follow me on Tumblr ( notsosupersaiyan) or Twitter ( mightymooseart) this publishing might have come as a surprise to you. I did this as a protest the the general crappiness of humans on April Fool's Day. So here is the very  _ **real**_  next chapter. Enjoy.

* * *

 

THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

* * *

 

Content Warning: contains extreme violence and some language

* * *

 

CHAPTER FIVE: THE BLUE FALCON

* * *

 

DECEMBER 31st

Nappa's words hung in the air like a foul odor. There was something about them that seemed less like a warning and more like a threat. Besides, Vegeta didn't need anyone to look out for him. He was doing just fine. He had everything under control.

Bulma had knocked on his door early Sunday morning and invited him to join her for a date.  _A real date. Just the two of them._  As she put it. Against his better judgement he accepted. Okay, so maybe just  _mostly_ everything.

He would be done with his "work" long before she wanted to meet up. But...of course, things never went as planned.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets as his boots crunched the snow and ice. He didn't want to take the job tonight. In fact Vegeta couldn't remember  _wanting_  anything in his life. But here he was. He thumbed out his Nokia and flipped open to the latest text message from the hidden number.

_There is a weed in the garden that needs to be pulled. Been so busy cleaning house, haven't had time to weed the yard. Wait until it cools down tonight to go out and play. Can't miss it. It's in the front near the big oak. If you need me call me at 3:59 love - Nana_

He rolled his eyes, he understood the purpose of cant but now Nappa was just getting ridiculous. It was easy enough to decipher.

One hit. A personal favor, looks like Nappa was taking on more than he could handle.  _Typical._ Wait until tonight. Midnight. Front room of the house. 359 Big Oak Ave. No stipulations, no warnings. Easy.

He should be with her right now watching some stupid puppet film, not wandering around in a snowstorm waiting to kill someone _._

_God what would she think if she knew. Okay. Stop. Don't think about that._

* * *

He slipped earbuds into his ears and shoved the end down into his pocket, flipping his hood up and disappearing into the snowy night. Surveillance was always easier when people thought you were oblivious.

Vegeta found that the frozen trudge through the snow did not clear his thoughts as it usually did. In fact, the more he walked the harder and harder it became for him to focus. His thoughts darted this way and that, occasionally getting themselves stuck to each other before flinging themselves back down another direction. They darted from the past, to Frieza, to his childhood, to Bulma, and back to Frieza again.

He reached Big Oak Ave at 11:58 pm. Perfect timing, as usual. He took another look around the block, cursing Nappa for throwing this job on him last minute. He wouldn't have time to scope and snipe. He'd have to go in cold, Nappa's surveillance as his only intelligence. He pulled out his phone, the dim blue light reading the numbers 11:59 PM back at him. Well, no time like the present.

When he had left his apartment that evening he hadn't known that tonight would be a night full of surprises. If he had he would've told Nappa to go shove it up his ass, or maybe he would've saved himself the trouble and killed Nappa himself. But hey, hindsight, right? Vegeta had always hated surprises, and tonight was about to be one of the most surprising nights of his life.

Vegeta moved silently through the shadows of the house, under the windowsill and to the front door. His hand slid under his hoodie and grasped the handle of his gun, pulling it free from the back of his jeans. He took one quick jump up the steps and pushed his shoulder into the front door.

This was the first thing that had surprised Vegeta that night. Unfortunately for him, it would not be the last. He fell through the open doorway, barely catching his footing before stumbling through the entryway his wet boots pounding loudly on the floor. His gun was aimed and trained before he had recovered his balance.

The second thing to surprise Vegeta was that the room, the room that was supposed to contain the soon-to-be dead man was empty. It was empty, it was dark, and it was as cold as the night air outside. None of this felt right to him. Something here was very, very wrong.

Vegeta's last surprise would be his most painful.  _God did he hate surprises._  He heard the front door swing shut behind him and he whipped around just in time for the gun to fire.

Adrenaline pumped through his body as he lowered his gun back down. It didn't matter how often it coursed through him, he was immune. The thrill had worn off long ago.

Surprisingly, his hands began to shake and they didn't stop. The man, whoever he was, was dead. Didn't matter now, never would. And one day, Vegeta's life would end just like his, probably in a shithole just like this one. He sighed. Vegeta stepped over his body without a shred of remorse, never looking back to see his face. He slid out onto the patio, the snow was falling harder now. Damn, his hands were still shaking. He shoved them down in his pockets and took a step down the patio stairs. His knees buckled from underneath him and that's when he felt it, a surge of pain and nausea washed over him like a tidal wave of needles staying just long enough to stab through him and be ripped out again. His stomach was on fire. He clenched at it with his hands only to feel a familiar warm gush of blood pump through his fingers.  _Shit._  This felt familiar. All too familiar. It smelt like frankincense and charcoal and the bitter, bitter cold.

_No. No. No. Not now._

He was beginning to feel dizzy. Adrenaline was wearing off. He wasn't very far from his apartment, only a block and a half. He stumbled through the snow, trying his best to stay out of sight and keep pressure on the hole that was gushing life from his side.

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, you stupid shit._

His mind kept replaying it over and over again. He had done everything perfectly. He had done everything Nappa had said to...Nappa. Vegeta had known Nappa his whole life. He had been the only person from his life before Frieza. Nappa was painfully loyal to Vegeta's father, even after his death and would often reminisce about him. His loyalty and friendship with Vegeta was only an extension of some sick need to be close to him, nothing more.  _Cleaning house_.  _Too busy cleaning house._  It had all been a set up. If Vegeta survived this, he was going to  _kill_ Nappa.

He could see the complex now. He blinked the snow rapidly from his eyes the wide, squat log cabin billowing smoke into the dark sky. Colorful paint peeling from the rotten logs.

He froze.

_W-wait. Not here….No. This wasn't right._

He was beginning to panic, trying to blink it away but there it was, as real as the sticky blood that stuck his shirt to his side and dripped down his legs.

If he couldn't keep himself rooted to reality he would bring himself back. He twisted his fingers into a fist and pushed it into the wound, it dropped him like a corpse in the snow, but there it was. The door...he was almost to the back door.

Vegeta had brushed elbows with Death many times. They had danced their dance, looked each other in the eyes, bowed, and parted ways. But this, this was different. There was no way he was going to make it out of this one. He couldn't seek medical attention and before he got more information he would not be calling on the service of the Ice Men. The last thing he needed was for someone to try again. He clenched his sweatshirt harder, blood ringing out of the cotton and dribbling into the snow.

Once he died he would disappear from this world much like he had lived, he would simply fade away without anyone to notice he had ever been there in the first place.

But  _she_  would notice. He knew she would. Would she cry when he died? He couldn't bear the thought of making her cry. Her honey smile was a golden thread that pulled him through the snow and up the stairs, one painful step after the other. He just wanted to see her one last time. He didn't have any regrets really, dying was a funny thing. His life hadn't really held any hopes so what was there to regret?

His climb up the stairs proved more difficult than he had anticipated. He reached his door after what felt like hours, sliding his hand across the wall for balance he pushed himself to the other side of the hallway.  _Just one last time._  He stumbled across the narrow hallway, colliding with her door. He leaned into it and knocked.

_Nothing._

His knees wobbled. It was so cold. He knocked again.

_Nothing._

His knees finally gave out and he let himself collapse under the weight of the pain. Of course. Of course she wasn't home. He couldn't help but laugh _. Ouch._  Life had done nothing but kick him in the teeth since he was a child, why would this be any different. His arms felt weak, he couldn't keep pressure on his stomach anymore. Instead he just held his hand over his stomach, letting the blood gush through his fingers.

The hum of the fluorescents vibrated in the back of his ears. Ever so slowly it drunkenly danced around the whispering voices like old dust dancing in the warm light.

_Utekhi, radost' i lyubov'_

_Gde kupno s zdraviyem blistali,_

_U vsekh tam tsepeneyet krov'_

_I dukh myatetsya ot pechali._

_Gde stol byl yastv, tam grob stoit;_

_Gde pirshestv razdavalis' liki,_

_Nadgrobnyye tam voyut kliki_

_I bledna smert' na vsekh glyadit_   
_I bledna smert' na vsekh glyadit_

Ancient words. Words that ached and creaked like the splintering wooden boards of the old cabin.

As they danced around him, fading in and out they brought with them ash...the familiar smell of frankincense and charcoal...musty incense long forgotten. He rubbed his fingers together, he could feel the soft ash, it's perfect shape disappear between his fingers.

Leaning close, letting it fill his chest with pure earthy fragrance and steal the air from his lungs. Reverently he watched the thick spire as it smoldered and burned, the smoke twisting and rising to the ceiling with the aching voices of everyone around him.

Then….the faintest of sounds….the familiar patter of footsteps and a voice like a songbird.

_Ha. No way._

He flung his head towards the stairs letting it rest against his clavicle, his eyes straining to look up. There she was, she had silenced them and brought back the smell of cheap paint and all-purpose cleaner.

She was so beautiful. So radiant. She moved through life with purpose and with a joy that was simply unmatched. He heard her talking on the phone to someone casually as she fished for her keys in her purse.

* * *

 

Bulma hopped lightly up the stairs, as she dug around in her purse. She had called Krillin for general friendship advice after Vegeta had missed their date,  _not_  to receive a lecture about his supposed strength of character. But that was Krillin. He meant well, but he was a shrewd and suspicious person. Kinda like an old lady, she supposed. It was probably what made him a good beat cop.

"No, no! I'm telling you Krillin it's not that bad! He sometimes says weird stuff, like, I dunno, '30 ways to kill someone with a shoelace' or whatever but I'm sure he's not getting into THAT much trouble…."

Climbing up the stairs she heard a  _tlit_  as she stepped in something. Blood. Something deep in the pit of her stomach twisted, her words catching in her throat.

_Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Not him_.

That's when she saw him, curled up against her door, a trail of blood down the hallway where he had stabilized himself, there was blood smeared on the handle, the frame and the door, and pooling around him.

Bulma realised Krillin was still talking. All she managed to say was "A-alright, never mind...I'll call you back…" before numbly hanging up the phone.

She approached him cautiously, like a wounded animal. "I...Uh...take it your date didn't go over too well, did it tough guy?"

Head jerking up at her, his eyes glazed over, struggling to focus. She heard the same dark humor in his voice that she had grown so used to.

"What gave me away, Blue?" He managed a cocky smile, but she didn't meet his gaze. Crouching down next to him, she pulled out her phone. He was both agitated and concerned by this.

_No. None of your friends. Don't get anyone involved. Please if I'm going to die let me die here with you. Shit, death is making me a pussy._

"W-who are you...-" was all he managed before another wave of pain washed over him.

"A friend, she is a surgeon….well...sort of…. I know you don't like hospitals. She can be here in less than an hour. You just have to hang on until then." with glistening eyes, she touched his face gently.

_No don't cry. Please don't cry._

Bulma unwrapped the beautiful, bright floral scarf from her neck and began folding it up.

"I-I don't understand, your apartment was closer to the stairs why did you have to crawl all the way over here and ruin  _my_  front door?"

Was she trying to tease him? It was hard to tell. She was still dewy eyed.

"I...I dunno...I think….I kinda wanted to see you one last time before I ate it."

"Oh."

"...and I'm delirious from blood loss so don't listen to anything I say."

"Whatever you say tough guy." There it was. That honey smile. She wrapped her arm around him and pressed the scarf firmly into the wound. He winced as pain shot through his body. He heard a small gasp escape her lips as the scarf instantly soaked with hot blood.

Bulma fought back the tears that stung her eyes and sat in the back of her throat threatening to choke her. She had never seen so much blood. It was everywhere. Taking a deep breath she pushed the wadded up fabric of her scarf harder into the wound, when she did his body rose and fell with a jerk his eyes rolling back into his head before it lolled lazily back to the side. Oh God, it was really going to end like this, wasn't it? He was going to die and she would be helpless to stop it. Sitting here, watching it happen, in the hallway where they first met. Where was Launch? What was she going to do now? What was she going to do?

Just keep talking. Keep him awake. Don't cry. At least not a lot. Not yet.

She leaned her head onto his shoulder.

_Do it. Tell him how you really feel. Bulma, you may never get the chance. This might be it._

"So, wanna get a pizza later if you don't die?"

_Um. What?_

"Make it three I'm in..." he trailed off weakly his eyes darting around spastically. He smiled that crooked smile of his.

"Deal." She tried to hide the emotion in her voice but she choked on the word as it tripped out of her mouth.

_Way to go. Bulma Briefs Self Saboteur Extraordinaire._

She glanced down at her phone, still nothing. Only twenty minutes had passed but it felt like hours. His breathing was shallow and when he spoke it was labored. His rich olive skin was pale and ashen.

She felt the weight of his body slowly collapse into her arms as he struggled to stay conscious. He was shivering violently now and his skin felt cold and clammy. She pressed the scarf into his wound and spoke to him. Talking about everything. Stupid things. Things that didn't matter. None of it mattered. Especially when he was staring death in the face and she could do nothing but watch. Occasionally he would answer. Sometimes it would make sense, sometimes it wouldn't. He told her things. Strange things. Things she hoped weren't true.

"Hold on…" she whispered "just a little longer."

* * *

 

The rapid thump of boots echoed through the hallway. Vegeta had been aware of very little that had happened around him for a while now. A curvy blonde woman covered in ornate tattoos and wearing very little clothing launched herself up the stairs and down the hall. She dropped in front of them wasting no time at all. The duffle bag slung her over shoulder flung forward when she landed in front of Vegeta. She lifted his head with no resistance, and shone her phone flashlight in his eyes.

"How long ago did this happen?"

"I-I don't know. I texted you as soon as I found him."

"Fuck." The woman hissed shoving her phone in her pocket and began pulling a pair of dark nitrile gloves over her hands.

"Launch." Bulma was losing her composure, nearly hyperventilating. "Launch, is he going to die?"

"He's lost a lot of blood and he's going into hypovolemic shock... I….I'm gonna try Bulma." a tender look flashed across Launch's face before she positioned herself behind Vegeta. "Lift his legs, come on we gotta get him inside."

Launch pulled him forward off the door and he slumped to the ground. Bulma unlocked her apartment, shoving everything from the kitchen table onto the floor in one swift motion, then she ran back out into the hall and grabbed Vegeta's legs. When they lifted him he sucked in air sharply, his eyes fluttering open and closed again.

"Launch, why is he shaking? He won't stop shaking." Bulma had lost all control, she could barely see through her tears.

"He's in shock. Grab a blanket. We gotta wrap him up." Launch shouted as she slung her bag onto the kitchen counter.

Once Vegeta was on the table, Bulma ripped a blanket she found off the couch and threw it over him. Launch proceeded to dig through her bag and pull out her supplies: fishing line, x-acto blade, scissors, a stereo, vodka, rubbing alcohol. She whipped her head around as she tied her long blonde tresses back in a ponytail.

"If he stops breathing, tell me. If anything comes out of his mouth turn his head. Keep talking to him Bulma. Don't let him fall asleep. Slap the shit outta him if you have to." Launch barked. Bulma nodded frantically and pulled up a kitchen chair next to Vegeta's head. She began to stroke his hair, biting down on her knuckle in an effort to control her sobbing. It didn't work.

Launch set up a bell lamp above the table and pulled the soft, brown leather belt from her shorts in one swift  _thwap_.

"Fucking Kami on a fucking stick where the hell is Tien?" Launch cursed.

Bulma almost fell out of the chair "W-what?"

"Tien. He's supposed to be here. Nevermind. Here." she tossed her phone to Bulma. "He's under 'Tien Shithead'; text him. Tell him if he doesn't get his ass down here STAT I will ice him."

Bulma frantically began texting, her hands shaking. When she was done she passed the phone back to Launch.

A woman looked down at Vegeta with trembling eyes, the orange cat wrapped tightly in her arms. Her mop of brown curly hair falling around her face.

"You….are my…. lucky star….my lucky...star…." she was paralyzed with fear, tears and sweat dripping down her face.

He was so close, he could almost touch her.

Launch took a deep breath and grabbed the scissors. She cut his shirt open and pulled it off in one swift motion. It yanked Vegeta back into consciousness.

Vegeta's eyes shot open. He was keenly aware that he had no idea what was going on. He heard yelling and crying. There was a blonde woman. She was taking his clothes off? Oh god why was he in so much pain. The room wouldn't stop spinning. He took a deep breath - well he tried. He only managed a measly gasp then violently spat back out a combination of bile and blood.

"Turn him on his side." The blonde woman barked as she pushed him over, ripping his shirt the rest of the way off his torso. It was soaked and dropped to the floor with a wet  _thwack_. That's when he saw Bulma. She was as beautiful as ever….but she was covered in blood. Something in him sank. Her eyes were swollen from crying and tears fell generously from her vibrant crystal eyes. No. No, don't cry. He tried to reach out to her, to comfort her. But she just collapsed into broken sobs. She grabbed his hand and held it in a tight grasp.

"Hey...hey...shhhhhh….Blue...don't cry." He managed a sly grin.

The blonde woman got quiet then she said something behind him but he couldn't hear it. Bulma nodded and let go of his hand.  _No, don't leave._  She must have seen the fear on his face. She squeezed his hand before pulling away.

"I'll be right back. I'm just grabbing towels."

As soon as she disappeared out of view, he found himself suddenly looking at the kitchen ceiling again, the wind knocked out of him. Blood and bile rising in his throat. He struggled not to choke on it. It sputtered out of his mouth hitting him in the face.

_Uh-oh._ Something was wrong. More wrong than this whole thing had  _already_  been.

The blonde woman leaned in close placing a gloved hand over his mouth, there was a look of pure revulsion on her face. She placed her other hand on the bullet wound and leaned forward. Pain electrocuted him sending convulsions through his body.

"Nice tattoos you got there, bud."

_Mmmmm. Yep. There it is. Shit._

"I know what you are. If it were up to me I'd sit here and let you die. Shit, I'd prop my feet up on your chest and watch you bleed out while I ate takeout." she added with venom dripping from her voice,"Ice Man."

Vegeta growled trying to swallow the pain. Still under her gloved hand, his body writhing as she pushed down on him. He didn't have the strength to fight back. The room was still spinning. Guttural cries escaped him with every ragged breath.

She leaned in even closer and whispered in his ear.

"Bulma might not know what you are, but I do. This is the West Side and the Ice Men don't belong here. Frieza can go take his fuckboys somewhere else. Go rape another city. West City doesn't belong to you. The White Cranes and the Z Fighters own these streets. I'll patch you up for  _her,_  for some reason she thinks you deserve saving. But you stay the fuck away from Bulma. Cross paths with me again and I'll blow your fucking head to smithereens."

After that everything happened at once. Bulma arrived back in the room with an armful of towels, Vegeta's hands wrapped around the bloodsoaked, cupcake-patterned blanket that had been placed over him and his head tossed forward violently vomiting, and a muscular Chinese man, almost seven feet tall with a tattoo of an eye in the center of his forehead, burst through the door.

"Bulma. Give me the towels. Keep him awake. Tien, it's about DAMN time. Get your lazy ass over here. Hold his legs down."

Launch shoved Vegeta back on his side.

Tien clenched down on his legs. "Baobei, look." he said pointing to Vegeta's clenched hands. His fingers were turning blue.

"What - what's wrong?"

"Don't worry about it Bulma. Just talk to him and keep him from losing consciousness, okay?" Launch leaned over and shoved her folded belt in his mouth. "Bite down,Vanilla Ice. This is going to hurt."

Vegeta bit down as hard as he could but the belt began to slide out the side of his mouth.

Bulma's cold, trembling hand rubbed his face gently. His eyes unable to focus. He could hear her voice but he couldn't find her. He searched frantically.

_Where was she?_

Cold hands... cold, cold hands. Staring into nothingness far beyond where he was and what was. Cold hands slid from the top Vegeta's head down his neck, tracing the contours of his throat.

"You have something on your chin, little prince." the thin, small man mused, adjusting his tie. He leaned flinched but knew better than to move away as a tongue caressed his lips and cheek, licking the sticky liquid from his mouth and chin. The acrid smell caused something to rise in his throat, he screwed his eyes shut and forced it back down. But it wouldn't go down.

It rose in his throat and he choked.

"Turn his head." Launch barked, wiping the blood away from the wound, poured alcohol over her glove and shoved her fingers inside.

His back arched. He had never felt pain like this, his mind running through all the most painful experiences he'd had. They all sort of blurred together. He couldn't focus. Couldn't think. Feel. God, he was so tired, the belt continued to slip from his mouth. He was slipping, he could feel it. Like slipping into a warm bath. This was it.

_Bulma._

_Where was she?_

_Have to see her._

_Just one last time._

_Have to tell her._

A sound pierced the darkness, soft and warm like the first light of morning. He could barely hear her sweet honey voice, through broken cries.

"We'll do it all. Everything. On our own."

_She remembered. She remembered that night._

Launch continued to dig her fingers in the wound for the bullet, wiping away the blood as it bubbled out.

"Damn it all. Where the fuck is it?"

"Do you want me to-"

"No. I want you to shut the hell up and do your job, keep him steady he's moving too much. You move a lot for a dead guy, dontcha Ice?"

"Launch. You need to be careful you're going to kill him."

"Who is the surgeon here? Me. So shut the fuck up or you're going to find yourself on Bulma's kitchen table next."

"We don't need anything or anyone."

Her voice cracked with emotion. Her fiery blue eyes fixed on his face. She continued to rub gentle circles on his cheek as she sang. His breathing erratic.

"If I recall you had your license revoked." Tien mumbled.

"I swear. To. God. Tien. I'm going to shoot you and  _I_ won't miss like the pussy that shot Ice, here."

"Why are you being like this?"

"Could we  _not_  have this conversation right now?"

"If I lay here, if I just lay here would you lie with me and just forget the world?"

"Got it. Shit, how close were you standing to the fucking gun Ice?" She turned her head to yell at Tien "Get me the fishing line and the vodka. Hurry up."

It all sounded so fuzzy, like hearing a hushed conversation underwater.

"I don't quite know how to say how I feel. Those three words are said too much but not enough."

Everytime he began to slip under the water her voice pulled him back again. He tried to hear the words. Tried to focus on her face, but the more he tried the fuzzier it became.

"Brace yourself Tien."

Strong hands clenched onto his calves, pushing him down into the table. A face over his - dark skin, icy eyes, veiny scars tracing his skull.

"Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look at me." the young man screamed as his fists collided with Vegeta's face over and over again.

"Look, look at me. Focus on my face. Can you look at me, Vegeta? Hey, stay with me."

Fire erupted in his stomach as Launched poured the alcohol over the wound. He heard a scream rip through his chest it sounded almost distant like it came from somewhere else. He struggled to keep breathing.

"If I lay here, if I just lay here would you lie with me and just forget the world? Forget what we're told before we get too old. Show me a garden that's bursting into life."

Her voice brought him back from the darkness. The tenderness of her soft finger rubbing circles on his cheek. It was all so foreign to him. It was a kindness that life had never afforded him. The bullets and alcohol? Eh, that was pretty par for the course.

He felt warm droplets  _pit pat_ on his face. He opened his eyes again. Her face directly over his. Her hand in his. Her tears falling onto his face.

"Shhhh…...d-don't cry." was all he managed to eek out.

He couldn't bare that she was crying. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and hold her tight. Tell her everything was going to be okay. But before he could, he slipped gently into inky blackness. He let it take him.

* * *

 

As always, the greatest of thanks to my valiant army of copy editors Hanko, Cindermane and dgschneider for tolerating my flurry of artistic writing and making it presentable!

And praises every be to Stupidoomdoodles and LadyVegeets for inspiring this fic and really for getting me writing for the first time.

Comments are welcome, say hello! I don't bite!


	6. The Pale Death

THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

* * *

Content Warning: contains violence, mention of abuse, death, and some language

* * *

CHAPTER SIX: THE PALE DEATH

* * *

_Utekhi, radost' i lyubov'_

_Gde kupno s zdraviyem blistali,_

_U vsekh tam tsepeneyet krov'_

_I dukh myatetsya ot pechali._

_Gde stol byl yastv, tam grob stoit;_

_Gde pirshestv razdavalis' liki,_

_Nadgrobnyye tam voyut kliki_

_I bledna smert' na vsekh glyadit_   
_I bledna smert' na vsekh glyadit_

_Where once amusement, joy and love_

_Shined together in good health,_

_Now the blood is freezing in our veins,_

_Our souls are plagued by grief._

_Where once a feast was spread a coffin lies,_

_The place where festive singing rang_

_Now is heard but graveside keening_

_And Pale Death watches over all_

_And Pale Death watches over all_

* * *

JANUARY 1st

Bulma rubbed her sore neck and flipped her head over to the other side sliding her legs out from her so the blood could flow again. She wasn't sure what time she had fallen asleep kneeling beside the couch but she knew it must've been some time ago. Tien and Launch had still been there and it had still been dark outside, the sun was setting now.

She wasn't surprised she had slept so long. It had been an awful night. Looking around her house it looked like someone had slaughtered a cow in her kitchen and then dragged them out the front door. It wasn't surprising Vegeta had needed blood.  _Bad_. That's why Launch had brought Tien. She called him her "Blood Bank". He was universal, and thus her source of off-the-market blood. Even though she removed the bullet and stitched the wound Vegeta had not been doing well.

Before she left, Launch woke Bulma, telling her of the instructions she had left on the counter and how to care for the wound. Bulma thanked them profusely for what they had done and that was the last time she had seen them.

Bulma reached out and ran her fingertips along the contours of his face. He looked so peaceful now. It hadn't started that way though. He was unconscious but his rest was fitful and feverish. It was like he was fighting something. Launch had given him something to "knock him on his ass" as she put it. Whatever it was it seemed to have worked. Since then he hadn't moved more than the occasional moan or twitch.

She checked her phone, it was completely dead. She looked down at herself, dried blood covered her torso and arms. She needed a bath.

* * *

Bulma slid into the hot water which numbed her muscles. She felt her chest open like window shutters. She was right. She definitely needed this. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and slowly slid all the way down under the water, letting her knees poke out.

She never wanted to leave the steaming water. Everytime she closed her eyes she saw him on her kitchen table, writhing in pain. She needed to think about something else. Something that -

She felt the tub reverberate with a heavy  _BUNG_. She shot upright sloshing steamy water all over the bathroom. There he was laying face down on the floor trying to get back up on his hands and knees and failing pathetically.

_What? What the hell?_

"Vegeta? What the hell are you doing? You shouldn't be up you're going to hurt yourself." She shouted as she threw her arms around her bare chest.

He gazed up at her like he hadn't even noticed she was naked, he looked more confused than anything. His pupils were huge, even in the bright light of the bathroom. Breathing slowly through his mouth, he looked as though he might just fall asleep right there on the floor.

"I need to pee." he drowsily stated.

_What the hell did Launch give him?_

"Okay. Well...uh….let me put a towel on and I'll help you up."

Blinking at her slowly, he nodded.

She waited.

"Well, close your eyes already."

He looked confused and screwed his eyes shut without dropping his head.

Bulma stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around herself, careful to tuck it in the side. She did not need it falling down in the middle of this whole ordeal. She walked over to Vegeta with a wet  _pit pit pit_. His eyes were still shut tight.

She cleared her throat and he opened them, jumping with surprise.

"Alright tough guy, let's get you off the floor, shall we?" she knelt next to him and slung his arm over her shoulder supporting his weight as she helped him lift himself off the ground.

Boy, was he  _heavy._

"Let's take it slow, okay?" she cautioned. "I don't want you to fall on me."

When they reached the toilet he wasted no time yanking down his shorts, staring off into the distance.

_Woah. Okay. That is. Hmm._

He dropped his head to the wall in front of the toilet. She wasn't quite sure if he had fallen asleep or not. Bulma waited, awkwardly shifting her towel. She was unsure of what to do other than look away as best she could. His hand rested on the handle of the toilet as if he had forgotten what he was doing.

"You okay?"

"Hmm?" he looked at her with an expression of calm bewilderment that she found oddly amusing.

"Let's get you back to bed. But...uh….let's pull up your pants first, alright?"

He nodded thoughtfully as though what she had said was very insightful. Then pulling his underwear the rest of the way up he turned entirely too fast as he went to leave, doubling over the side of the bathroom counter sending cosmetics and hair products topping to the floor.

If she had thought about leaving him alone before she had banished the thought entirely now.

"How about you let me lead, huh?"

He didn't respond instead he let her guide him sleepily back to the couch. She laid him down as best she could trying to keep the towel wrapped around herself.

He looked up at her thoughtfully. "Ya prinoshu svoi izvineniya."

_Say what now?_

"Huh?"

"I'm sorry." he pouted in a slurred haze.

Bulma hadn't expected those words. Not now, possibly not ever. She wasn't sure what he had to be sorry for, but she smiled sweetly anyway.

"Uh….That's okay. It's not how I wanted to see you naked the first time but even then you don't disappoint." she teased.

"No." he shook his head vigorously. "I'm a bad person, Blue."

"Don't say that." She gently began, but he cut her off his voice, lackluster as if he were lost somewhere in a daydream.

"I've done awful things. So many I don't even remember them all." His face twisted in pain as he shifted on the couch.

Something seized in her chest, she sat on the edge of the couch by his feet, placing a hand gently on his calf. "Do you want to talk about it?" Heavy silence greeted her. A silence she felt she didn't have the right to break. So she sat with him and said nothing.

"Just thinking...I don't know why. Haven't thought about it in years." He slurred thoughtfully almost as if he hadn't heard her.

"Hey, I tell you what. I'm going to run and grab something warm to throw on and then we can talk, okay?"

He nodded slowly. Her thoughts ran faster than she did, tripping through her hallways and all of the things that needed to be done to take care of Vegeta. He had ripped his IVs from his arm causing blood to run generously down his arm. He had not noticed. They needed to be cleaned...and probably redone. But doing that was beyond her, she would need Launch's advice. He would need to eat; she definitely did. Her fridge was empty. She had a beer, half a jar of peanut butter, and some uncooked spaghetti noodles. She had planned on going to the store today but...plans changed.

She had thought for a moment about running down to the corner store but she was too afraid to leave him now. He could get himself into too much trouble. He began to talk in his sleep.

When she came back out to the living room his arm was draped over his face, his elbow covering his eyes.

_He must have fallen back asleep. That's probably for the best._

* * *

He had been awake enough to feel the disconnect between his fingers and his arms, like he was trying to reach something very far away, always right out of his grasp. He  _hated_  that sensation. The loss of control. It brought danger, it brought the onset of raw panic, and more importantly it brought back memories.

As he slipped in and out of Bulma's living room, his hungry soul prowled around in the dark sniffing about the piles of skeletons. It stalked through the dusty streets of Yambio, sniffing the gunpowder and the thick blood in the air. It rummaged around the burning, crackling wreckage of his home, the VIP suite, and the marble floors. Rabid and vicious, it sunk its teeth into anything it could find pulling him in and out of the present until it finally settled.

His soul settled on the cold, desolate years in the Ural mountains. It gnashed its teeth, locked its jaw and thrashed about until it had ripped apart the frozen coffin, spilling its contents everywhere. It shook lose broken ink pens, hot boiled roots, frozen starless skies...and Vasili.

* * *

Vegeta shivered into the couch, wrapping the blankets tighter around himself looking out the plane window at the vast expanse of white nothingness below. It was endless. Snow for hundreds of miles, probably more punctuated by veins of black rock. Cold eyes pulled him free from the grasp of the mountains. Frieza was watching him with mild amusement.

"Tell me, little prince, what's troubling you?"

_It had to be a trap. Frieza didn't really want to know, did he? What was the right answer? What would happen if he gave the wrong answer?_

Frieza shifted in his seat, purring and drumming his fingers lightly on his knee. He was waiting.

"Well, Lord Frieza, sir. It's just…" the words caught in his throat. It had been years since he had spoken his mind. It felt foolish that such simple thoughts seemed so dangerous. And yet...he knew. He knew the game. He had to chose his next words carefully. "I am curious, sir, as to why you have chosen to accompany me."

Frieza almost looked impressed by his choice of words.  _Almost._

_Check._

"Very well." he adjusted his tie, and switched one leg on top of the other. "I suppose you have proven yourself as of late. You are here to train. You will be training with a man named Vasili, a former employee of my father's. He once trained me in this very mountain range." Vegeta saw a look he had never seen on Frieza's face before, and he couldn't quite place it. Was it remorse...or some sort of nostalgia? "And now he will train you."

Vegeta waited. That still didn't explain why Frieza was there with him. He had never escorted Vegeta anywhere. He stared at Frieza waiting for an explanation. But Frieza just gazed out the window, that same odd look on his face yet he spoke with a voice that was very familiar to Vegeta. The voice that said Frieza always got what he wanted...and when he didn't he took it anyways.

"He doesn't know it yet, but he will."

* * *

Bulma sloshed the bucket of pink suds down the kitchen sink and began to fill it again. Wiping her brow she turned around to survey her work. Discouraging is the word she would've used. Her entire floor and table was a mixture of red and pink. The only thing her efforts seemed to have done was swirl some of the neat, dry puddles into messy streaks and smears. She slammed off the faucet with her palm.

_There has to be a better way to get this out._  She thought.

A voice, rusty and feeble cut through her frustration.

_He must be awake._  She thought.  _Finally_.

Entering the living room with a cautious step and wiping her shriveled palms on her waist apron she whispered to him.

"Hey bub, how ya feelin'?"

Nothing.

She took a playful closer, brushing the hair from her eyes.

He was curled up on the couch in a ball wrapped in the blankets. He was shivering. He seemed so much smaller than before. She reached out cautiously to feel his forehead. He felt fine.

Odd.

_He must be dreaming._

Bulma watched him for a time, telling herself to turn and leave, to return to the bloody mess in the kitchen but she simply could not. His restless fits had returned. Sorrow hung around her like a raincloud. Vegeta's voice once again cracked through the silence squeaking out of his dry throat.

Was….was he? Yeah,  _he was._  Under his breath, he was singing.

She tried to make out the words but she couldn't understand it. It must've been in a different language. It was slow, the melody was haunting...

Bulma jumped, interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door.

* * *

A voice crackled through an old record player. It squeaked as the needle scratched the warped record and it teetered back and forth. The song was haunting. It would haunt Vegeta. Over the course of the next two and a half years Vegeta would learn not only the words to the song, but their meaning, and the language they had come from as intimately as he came to know suffering.

Sometimes, when his mind wandered, as minds are wont to do, he would float through the old cabin, searching for answer that would never come. Amongst them - why this was the only record Vasili owned and why he listened to it nearly non-stop.

Frieza had left Vegeta without another word. Now it was only Vegeta and this man...Vasili. Vegeta had no idea how long he would be here, or if he would survive the training he was to undergo. If experience had taught him anything, it had taught him that his future held a great deal of pain. At the time, he simply was not prepared for the strain of it, nestled high in the Ural mountains. The pain would sit dormant in his spine and flair from time to time at the very presence of the most harmless of things. The unique scent of blooming gardenias, the sight of the starless winter sky, the echoes of brass bells, and of course the elegant sound of Russian rolling of the tongue.

Vegeta nestled into the scratchy couch cushions, wrapped in Bulma's afghan and her bedspread. Despite his many layers he was still shivering, suffering from a cold that penetrated his bones. A cold that resonated from inside. Vasili was simply terrifying, covered in faded blue ink tattoos, balding with a large grey beard that hugged the collar of his shirt. He flicked ash off the end of his cigar angrily and blew smoke out his nose then pushed the cigar onto a plate on the table with a twist and turned to Vegeta, who had not moved since they had first entered the unassuming hut in the mountains and Frieza had told him to stand there in the first place.

The man watched Vegeta, will disinterest and mild irritation. The record scratched to a stop breaking the man's stare. He started it over and walked over to where Vegeta stood, looking down at the small, spindly boy.

"You speak Russian?" he asked, in Russian.

Vegeta stared forward blankly. He would not make eye contact with Vasili unless asked to.

"You will.", this time in English.

Standing, the man was about six feet tall, but he had the physique of a bear.

"Do you know why you are here, malchik?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is that so? Hmph. Why is this?"

"To train, sir."

"Da, that is right, rybka. It is only you and only me on this mountain. Three times in year Klavdiya come with supplies from city. She is only person you will see, other than Vasili. Everyday we will do same thing. You will run, hide. When the night falls, you return home. When you are nichtozhestvo here, where there is nowhere to hide, then we take you to Novosibirsk. You will hide among men. Each day I will find you. We will fight. If I catch you, you lose. If you lose, you do not eat. Do you understand, zychik?"

"Da."

* * *

"You are small and you are weak." Vasili stated as his fists sliced through the falling snow towards Vegeta. "That is why you must be smart and you must be fast."

Vegeta dropped down from the lone tree he had tried to hide in, wondering why he thought the conspicuous perch would be a good hiding place. He had been sloppy today.

He had barely stood up straight as Vasili's fists began raining down on him. The big man was much taller than he was, and surprisingly fast for a man his age. He was also relentless.

Vegeta had learned to be quick though over the last year and a half. He was by no means weak or soft at this point, but there was still no way he could exchange blows with Vasili in a brawl and hope to last more than a few seconds. Dodging as he stepped back, he then darted forward, underneath and behind Vasili's blows. Endless stepping back was a losing strategy.

As he turned back towards Vasili, his foot shot out and connected with the back of his knee - the sharp blow would have brought almost any other man of his size down to his knees, but Vasili wasn't just any man - he had long been a master of Systema, so he knew how to take blows and roll with them.

Vasili's weight shifted instinctually to his other leg, and the leg that Vegeta had kicked swung around into a kick, taking the energy from Vegeta's blow and turning it against him.

Fortunately, it wasn't  _only_ a disadvantage to be smaller, and Vegeta had learned to use his size to his advantage. Ducking the kick, he was able to grasp his assailant's ankle and calf. Turning, he stepped in and back, pulling the weight of the big man off balance. He tumbled forward.

With surprising agility, Vasili rolled to his feet just as Vegeta was upon him. He was too close to strike, so he grabbed for Vegeta's shoulders. Vegeta's hands came up, intercepting the large man's attack and grasping him by the elbows. Another turn and once again Vasili was tumbling to his back. He landed with a thud and Vegeta made sure he didn't want to get back up with a sharp blow to his chest.

Vasili coughed as the air was expelled from his lungs.

"Big man... can be stupid...if he is strong, but small boy like zychik...? Nyet, he must be fast and clever." Vasili said, his response punctuated by deep breaths.

"So, tell me, old man." Vegeta huffed, standing over Vasili's body "Am I clever enough for you?" a smirk dancing across his frostbitten face.

Vasili laughed heartily, standing up and dusting snow off of himself. "Old Vasili is not as young as he used to be, maybe he cut back on cigars...eh, no. But you are. Clever little rabbit is ready, this week we move to city. You have learned silence and to be hidden where there is nowhere to hide. Now you will hide where ten thousand eyes are watching you."

"Is that all?" Vegeta scoffed playfully as they marched through the snow back to what had become his home. "Too easy."

* * *

Bulma's heart pounded as she slowly cracked the door open, just wide enough to see the visitor. It was the delivery boy for the Thai restaurant she had ordered takeout from thirty minutes ago.

_Get it together Briefs. Geez._

But her look of horror returned as she looked through the scrawny teenager and across the hall at Vegeta's door.

* * *

She returned her attention to the boy, who was shifting awkwardly. Bulma's eyes darted past him again. Her order had been $35.62. She shoved a crumpled up $50 bill into his hand, snatched her food, and told him to keep the change.

Getting the idea that she wanted him gone, he thanked her profusely and zipped down the hallway. Leaving Bulma staring through the cracks of her door, takeout in one-hand, studying the tall, bald man trying to discreetly pick the lock of Vegeta's front door.

Vegeta was proud of himself. A feeling he felt very rarely. The day's training had gone surprisingly well and Vasili seemed to think as much, even ruffling Vegeta's hair upon finding him at home that night and laughing a deep, hearty laugh. Vasili had immediately set about boiling the roots on the boiler stovetop as Vegeta stoked the fire in the fireplace.

Vegeta and Vasili ate in silence for a time, drinking the frozen water and breathing in the sound of Okudzava's voice crackling through the record player and the crackling fire.

Vegeta looked up and down Vasili's arms at his tattoos. They had been living together for fifteen months now and while he wouldn't have called the man a friend, it was the closest thing he had had to a normal relationship with anyone ever.

Vasili noticed lifting his arms and gesturing to his tattoos he swallowed his mouthful of roots.

"Eh, you like?"

Vegeta's face burned with embarrassment.

"Da, Vasili. I do. I...was just wondering what they mean."

The man smiled and rolled his shoulders.

"This is good question, zychik. I will tell you. I have done all of them myself."

"You did?" Vegeta was surprised. Nappa had told him that people had tattoos done in stores using machines or in prison. Other than that he really didn't know anything about them.

"Da, they tell Vasili's story. You see this?" he pointed to a spider on his palm, matching a spider on the other side of his hand facing the other direction. "This one, it means Vasili leave behind web of crime to live a good life." pointing to the spider on the back of his hand.

"And what about the other spider?" Vegeta swallowed a mouthful of root.

"Ha, this mean Vasili will never leave behind web of crime." He smirked and tilted his hand back and forth from one side to the other. "And this means, Vasili...eh..he go this way and then he go that way."

Vegeta couldn't help but smile. He had come to know this man very well over the past year. He was almost like...well, Vegeta didn't have family and he didn't know anything about them either but maybe he  _was_  like family…. _this_ was like a  _home?_  He wasn't sure.

All Vegeta knew was that around Vasili, he felt...like he could exist just there. In that very moment. A feeling he had never felt before..and one he would never feel again.

Vasili rolled his large shoulders again and set his elbows on the table, leaning over his bowl of steamy, dry roots. Vegeta caught notice of a large swooping tattoo on Vasili's forearm.

"What about that one?"

Vasili looked down at his arm and smirked. "This is symbol of your father, of your family. Do you know this?"

Vegeta choked one bite of root he was swallowing. What was Vasili talking about? The man sat there, watching him, waiting patiently for a response. Vegeta shook his head, utterly dumbstruck.

"Da, I hear your name and think, it cannot be. Vegeta has been killed long ago, many years since now. But I look at you and see your father. You should be proud to carry his name."

Something sharp and heavy sat just at the top of Vegeta's chest. He swallowed the tasteless mush in his mouth.

" _Tzch_. Kogda rak na gore svistnet. My father is  _dead_. He was too weak to stop the people who came to kill him...and I'm not much of a legacy. What is there to be proud of?"

"Everything, zychik. Just because your father was not the strongest does not mean he was not strong, da? There is always someone stronger. Even stronger than Frieza. Who knows, maybe will be you one day, yes?"

Vegeta thought hard about this, he had dreamt countless times of clawing the life from Frieza's body with his own hands...entertaining the thought, the flicker of hope that one day, it might actually be possible?

Vasili's booming voice broke his violent fantasies.

"You have no pride because you have given it away. But this? Is one thing no one can take. Not even Frieza. From Vasili they take home, take wealth, take family, for a time even freedom. But...never...take...pride." he slowly pounded his closed fist on Vegeta's heart as he spoke the four words. "Nyet. But, eh, still they try. Why? Because if they take pride they have everything. But they will never take it." Vasili pounded his fist on his own heart passionately.

"Find it and not even Frieza can stop you, zychik."

Vegeta thought for a moment. Pushing the remainder of the light maroon plants around the cracked bowl with his fork. "Vasili….I don't know how." It was hard for him to admit. Weakness was dangerous but Vasili was different and Vegeta knew that, more than that ...he  _felt_  it.

Vasili thought for a moment. "You must remember who Vegeta is...who Vegeta  _was._ " and withthat the man got up and began to rummage through the kitchen cupboards.

* * *

Nappa cursed to himself, of course that cheeky little bastard had modded the lock since the last time he was here.

"Son of a fucking bitch." but he  _had_  to get inside, had to see for himself. If Vegeta was down, if he was laying low then he could take him out now and be done with it. He would have followed up with Don but Vegeta had disposed of him, and judging by the scene, not entirely unscathed. He followed the trail back here.

Vegeta was clean, efficient, quiet. But there was still blood all over these walls. Either he was already dead or he would be soon.

* * *

Vegeta held the bundle of taped needles carefully over the flame of the candle. Vasili set a pillar of incense in the center of the table, Vegeta had never seen one before. He looked at it inquisitively.

"Aaaah, da. This is ladan. For very special occasion  _only_. He lit the incense and watched it glow, reverently blowing out the flame. Smoke began to dance and curl through the air, filling the room."

With Vasili's guidance Vegeta set himself breaking the ink pens and pulling the ink out into the ceramic bowl he had eaten dinner from.

Vasili sat across from Vegeta explaining the process to him, a small scrap of yellowed paper with the design on it in his hand. He looked at Vegeta with an unfamiliar look it made him feel strange. Vegeta had been given adult responsibilities his whole life but this felt different. Respect, maybe? It was so different from the shame and constant degradation that waited for him back within the marble hallways. Vasili looked deep into his eyes with a smile of..another look he couldn't quite place?

"Ponimayu?"

"Ya ponimayu."

And with that be began, carefully and thoughtfully dipping the needle in the ink and pressing it into the skin of his finger over and over again, wiping it away with the cold damp cloth.

By the time he was finished his finger was swollen and the ink looked as though it had faded deep beneath his skin. He really couldn't tell if he had done a good job or not.

Vasili inspected it carefully, dipping the finger in icy water.

"You have done well." then clapping Vegeta on the top of his head and ruffling his hair. "Vasili is proud." Then throwing himself down at the kitchen table and clearing his throat, a warm smile melted through his rough exterior. "Now, it is time for Vasili to give you gift and always, wherever you are, you will remember." Picking up the needles he dipped and swirled them in the bloody ink that glistened in the firelight.

And he did...no matter where he went, Vegeta remembered.

* * *

The bald man had disappeared long ago, either making his way into Vegeta's apartment or giving up, Bulma did not want to find out. She wanted to tell him what had happened, but he still had not awoken. Bulma was beginning to worry. He would stir, say things she didn't understand and he would struggle, sometimes to the point where she worried he wound rip open his wound- but he had not awoken. It was night once again and Launch had come and gone with more fluids for him and what she described as her "cocktail" or "stop juice".

She watched him breathe heavily and sweat into the blankets, shivering and bundling as tightly as he could. He looked so small. For a moment she debated whether to sleep in her own bed, but she was terrified he would pull another bathroom stunt...or worse.

Grabbing a pillow and a blanket, she collapsed on the carpet with a heavy thud and a sigh. Her face resting underneath his hand that hung off the edge of the couch. Gingerly she reached up and intertwined their fingers feeling them spasm and twitch around her hand.

_Please God, Kami, Universe….anyone...let him make it._

* * *

Every step Vegeta took threatened to be his last as he sunk waist deep into the fresh powder. His clothes had frozen solid now and his joints were locking. He tried to shuffle his feet forward through the snow bank but his muscles were numb. They had given up listening to him long ago. He could see Vasili's cabin. It was so close. He wasn't supposed to come back until he had found the knife that he had lost the previous day, but he didn't have a choice. He had been so cold and he was so close. It was  _just_  across the frozen river. Falling through the ice had ruined it all.

He knew what this meant. No knife. No food. That was the rule. You don't eat if you are not successful on your mission. The hollow aching in his muscles filled him with dread, he wasn't even sure he would make it back now.

The water slowly dripped down his back and legs, turning to slush as it went and ice as it reached the snow beneath him compacting around his feet. One last push. He gave it one last push and fell into the snowbank face first.

He wasn't sure how long he was there in the snow, surrounded on all sides. Buried alive. He tried to keep the snow from suffocating him but it was becoming increasingly harder to do so. Vegeta had resigned himself to die there just as he felt powerful warm hands wrap around his body and pull him from his frozen grave.

Bulma was starting to panic, his eyes stared through her emptily as he continued to shiver. If anything, the blankets were making things worse, but he was wrapped in them so tightly she couldn't pull them from his grasp. White knuckling the edges of the blankets that he pulled tight around his frame, his teeth chattered violently.

Vasili threw another log on the fire with one hand, dropping Vegeta down on the rug in front of the fireplace with the other. He instructed Vegeta to stand and quickly stripped off his own clothes, down to his underwear. Then he began to tug Vegeta's clothes from his body, one piece at a time.

Vegeta had known this time would come. It always seemed to come to this, though he never understood why. His body was too numb to fight it. Vasili ripped each piece of icy clothing off of his body, throwing them on the hearth. Finally turning Vegeta around towards the fireplace, he ripped his underwear from his wiry frame and stopped.

Bulma hesitated before clicking 'send' - Launch's number dialed into her phone. Vegeta had suddenly stopped trembling and his hands had relaxed their iron grip on his blankets...but his face was still locked into a hard, focused expression, like someone who had accepted something unpleasant and was just waiting for it to be over. He opened his eyes, and Bulma could have sworn that he looked right at her. He almost seemed to smile at her.

Vegeta stood still and silent. Bulma's fearful eyes disappeared as he heard Vasili get up from the chair where he sat. He didn't bother looking, it didn't matter anyway. Vegeta felt warm, muscular arms wrap around him and lift him into Vasili's grip, there was a quilt wrapped around them. Vasili used his other arm to pull the armchair closer to the fire and then sat down, pulling the child closer into his chest, Vegeta's back against his chest.

Vegeta had not anticipated this. Any of this. He was suspicious.

"If you do not warm yourself slow you will lose toes and fingers, zychik."

Vegeta said nothing. Just stood there, as stiff as a corpse, watching the flames as they licked the charred bricks that lined the fireplace. Vasili cleared his throat awkwardly and held the boy tighter. His throat tight with emotion.

"Rybka, I have seen your scars. Frieza has done this to you, da?" He waited patiently. Whole minutes passed and still Vasili listened. No one had ever waited for Vegeta to say it out loud. No one had ever asked. Nappa knew. Raditz knew. Zarbon and Dodoria definitely knew, sometimes taking pleasure in watching.  _Everyone_  knew. But no one ever asked. No one ever spoke of it.

The frozen coffin that had held Vegeta inside had melted. He began to choke on the frigid water that dripped around him and for the first time since that first time, he cried.

"Y-ye-yes…" he choked on the word as it fell past his lips, letting his head fall on Vasili's barrel arms and burying his face in the hairy, leathery skin.

A faint gasp escaped Bulma's lips…  _was he... crying?_  She reached out and gingerly wiped the tears from his cheek. Once again, he opened his eyes slightly and their gazes met. "Vegeta…" she whispered. "You poor dear, what happened to you…"

Once again the deep barrel-chested voice snapped Vegeta back into the memory. Pulled him away from her starry eyes and the tender touch of her fingers against his cheek.

"Shh….shhhh...You don't need to fear this of me." Vasili's voice was strong, yet gentle. Vegeta had never experienced compassion. He struggled to comprehend everything about this.

Vegeta's body burned as it began to slowly warm from their shared body heat. Vasili held the boy closer as he crumpled, going limp in the man's arms.

Vasili gently rocked back and forth ever so slightly and sang the familiar song in a low and booming voice.

_Poka zemlya yeshche vertitsya,_

_Poka yeshche yarok svet,_

_Gospodi, day zhe ty kazhdomu,_

_Chego u nego net:_

_Mudromu day golovu,_

_Truslivomu day konya,_

_Day schastlivomu deneg..._

_I ne zabud' pro menya._

As the man sang, words almost seemed to change into the soft and warm lilt of Bulma's voice.

* * *

Vegeta whimpered quietly, clawing and twisting the wrappings that covered his abdomen. He was still shivering, teeth chattering, as he twisted in the blankets.

What should she do? What could she? How could you save someone from something that threatened to tear them apart from the inside?

Taking a deep breath Bulma turned around and pulled herself up, peering over his side to look at his face. He looked pale and sick, like he was either going to throw up, pass out, or...both?

His lips moved ever so slightly, the occasional sound, crackling out of his dry throat and into the cushions of the couch.

_Just_ _let him sleep...or should I wake him?_ _Rewrap his wound. Shit. Do that. That first. I was supposed to do that_ _hours ago._

"Hey?" She placed a hand gently on his shoulder. " Hey...Vegeta? You doing okay?"

He inhaled sharply, his breaths skipping like stones on the water, taking in the rough, woven pattern of the couch. She repeated her question to him. It took him a moment to respond.

"Yep. Super." he managed a pathetic 'thumbs-up'., It was as though he were pretending it had never happened at all. He was not convincing.

She watched over him fretfully, swirling the pads of her thumb and forefingers over each other. After a few minutes she managed to tear herself away. She padded back into the kitchen and fetched the old Thai Market grocery bag Launch had left full of supplies. She heard his voice sleepily drift through the air. It sounded like he was having a conversation with someone.

"Hey." she tried to whisper but it barely came out of her mouth. She didn't want to startle him and she wasn't quite sure if he was talking to her. She was met by silence.

"Vegeta?"

When she entered the living room he almost looked surprised to see her. When he didn't elaborate she slowly made her way to the end of the couch again and sat down.

"Vegeta. I'm sorry to wake you but we need to change your dressing."

Nothing.

"Hey…I'm going to change your bandages, okay?" He didn't respond, but instead attempted to turn over and sit up. Bulma helped him then slid in behind him on the couch and wrapped her arms around his waist, undoing the dressing. His back was covered in knotted, twisted scars. Some white, some pink. She wanted to know them, to understand. It was all so foreign to her, this world of his. She trailed her fingers along his shoulder blades and down his arm. She saw the tattoo she had missed before; her mind had been on other things at the time. It looked Russian, she couldn't read it. Faded and blue, the letters were entangled in barbed wire, a shackled hand holding out a naked angel. She ran her fingers along it, just now beginning to understand how little she knew about him… how little she understood.

His dark eyes were flat, like a well of ink.

"Vegeta, what does it say?"

"Hmm?" He turned to meet her gaze. He looked tired, as if he had been tired his whole life, and she supposed that maybe he had.

For a moment she considered whether or not to proceed but she found herself tracing the letters once again, as they ran under and over scars on his shoulder.

"What does this tattoo mean?"

"It means ' _Oh, fickle fortune, smile on me once more._ ' It represents the dream of a chance to escape the life one has been fated. The dream of the chance to  _kill_  Frieza." He paused reverently, breathing in the memory of the sweet scent of the sticky ink, freshly cracked from pens. "...And the barbs represent the years of imprisonment...at the time," He swallowed thoughtfully, looking hollowly back off into the distance, "...it had been eight years with Frieza."

_Eight years?_

"H-how long ago did you get this? It looks old."

"I was thirteen."

Bulma wanted to say something, but what could she say? Wanted to ask a million questions but his eyes begged for reprieve. It was something she couldn't give. She felt powerless.

He had fallen back asleep, sitting upright. She slid him down onto the couch, sliding herself in between him and his wound. His arm draped over her lazily, his face nestled into hers. She ran her fingers over his tattoos and scars, over his stories.

* * *

Vegeta woke to the sensation of bitter, numbing cold that curled his muscles. Something was wrong. The fire was out. He wrapped himself in his quilt and padded across the cold cobblestones to the fireplace.

_Curious._

The logs were cold, and no smoke puttered up from dying flames, it must have gone out long ago. Silently, he set about making a new fire and warming himself beside it.

He looked out the window. No sun shone, but it rarely did here. The world outside was a pure, blinding white.

_Odd._

Normally Vasili woke him before dawn, oftentimes he woke before dawn on his own.

The final oddity was the last moment of his peaceful life in the mountains.

The skipping of the record as it reached the end, over and over.

He found Vasili peacefully in the arms of Death in his bed, as though he were sleeping.

Reverently he grabbed a stick of incense, and the record player and moved them to his room, dragging the heavy arm chair as it skidded across the cobblestones. He pulled it beside the bed, lit the incense, carefully blowing it out when it began to glow, and re-started the record. He hadn't bothered to dress, rather wrapping himself in the quilt and balling up in the chair.

And that's where the old supplies hag found him, days later. Still curled in the chair, a frail thing, cold and nearly naked, no fire in the home. In a room with nothing but a frozen corpse and the grinding sound of a skipping record, pushed off its track.

* * *

Vegeta looked so peaceful. She watched him for a few moments, it felt like eternities, hoping he would say something. Hoping he was okay. Agonizing over how very little she knew about him. She really hated to wake him but she knew he hadn't eaten in at least a day. "Hey tough guy, I've got some food for you."

His eyes fluttered open hands shooting up to cover his face. It took him a moment to recognize her. "Mm? Blue?" He tried to sit up and fell back down.

"Hey, hey. Not so fast killer, let me help you." She wrapped her arms under him and helped him to sit up.

His face burned with embarrassment, he mumbled a thank you. He looked up at her dizzily.

Bulma set the pizzas on the coffee table and they ate straight from the boxes in quiet. He chewed slowly and thoughtfully, his stormy eyes distant. She had so many questions. The heavy sound of his breath pulled her gently out of the whirlpool of thoughts. The half eaten piece of pizza in his hand looked like it would fall into his lap. His other hand covered the bandage on his stomach. She tried to meet his gaze, his eyes closed, brow furrowed. His spine coiling up, slowly he curled into a ball. Still holding the piece of pizza, he did something Bulma never would've expected. Shivering and twitching... he snuggled into her. After a minute she continued eat in quiet, all the while watching him nuzzle into her side. Then he began to hum.

She found herself tracing his scars, resting her head over the back of the couch. It was that tune, the same one he had sung over and over again. When he finished the last bar she whispered gently to him.

"Vegeta?"

He jumped, his arms flying up in front of his face and immediately reaching back down to grab his burning side. It was as though he hadn't been there at all. He  _had_  felt her fingers rubbing lines all over his body..hadn't he?

"Oh. I was just wondering what you were humming."

"Molitva." he breathed in as though he were breathing in ice itself. "The Prayer of Francois Villon." He had nestled in, wrapping his arm over her leg and around her foot, and absentmindedly tapping his fingers lightly on the tips of her toes that hid under her knee. His cheek smashed into her knee, gazing forward now beyond the entry to the kitchen.

"What does it mean?"

She watched him intently, lost in his face, she wanted to be where he was, wanted to carry him through the trenches she knew he crawled through. But she could not. Instead she watched and she waited.

"As long as the Earth keeps turning, as long as the sun is above. Almighty,  _please_  give to all of us, the things we do not have….." he looked as though he would turn to ash, never losing his form or composure, simply turning to delicate dust and blowing away in the wind. "I know that you have the power, I have faith in your wisdom, believing as does a dead soldier that right in Heaven He dwells….and…as long as it still has some time left and fire to keep its course, grant something to everyone… and do not forget me… 'yours truly'..."

The voices drifted through the room like ancient dust, it filled his chest and resonated deep in his spine.

He couldn't believe it. Everything had been there, everything had  _been_...and then it simply hadn't. It was the first time in his life he had clung to something other than himself, and the smell of charcoal and frankincense that danced around him in the drafty chapel whispered to him.  _Never again._

In his life, tragedy was always preceded by something that had violently, savagely ripped it from his grasp, kicking him in the teeth and leaving him bleeding on the ground, covered in ash and snow. But not this time.

No. There had been no fire, no Frieza, no gunpowder. Nothing but Death. Death itself had visited him. In the night He had trailed his cold, pale fingers along the windows and the doors, snuffing out the fire and Vasili's life. It was poetic, in a stupid way. Vegeta wouldn't cry. He told himself he would swallow the tears if he had to choke on them.

Bulma finally understood what was happening, he was getting lost in the song, in where the song was taking him. This time he interrupted his own thoughts.

"Why?" Wide, dusky eyes filled with sorrow and curiosity.

"Well, you've been singing it in your sleep for the past two days... I just…"

Something short circuited in his brain with her words.

_Two days. Wait. TWO DAYS?_

Shit. He had missed at least one check in. He needed to fix that. Now. Before someone came looking for him.

"Blue, listen to me. I need to know where you put my phone?" his voice was suddenly urgent, almost fearful.

"Are you serious? Right now?"

"Listen Blue, if I don't check in we are going to have a lot more than a bullet hole to worry about, okay?" he awkwardly pushed himself off the couch urgently, falling back down in the process.

"Stop. Okay. Uh...Just, wait there I will find it." She gently pushed him back and ran into the kitchen to retrieve it. She knew exactly where it was. The same place she had left it that night after they had moved him to the couch, it had buzzed over and over again.

She took it to him, he pulled it out and rapidly typing sent one message, then dropped it to the floor.

* * *

Nappa hadn't slept well since he last heard from Vegeta. He had no idea whether the kid was dead or not. He rubbed the back of his bald head. Man, how had he gotten so mixed up in all of this messed up shit.

His phone buzzed on the counter. He jumped to grab it.

_Finally._

But it wasn't the news Nappa was hoping for. Two words. The number was encrypted but he knew exactly who it was.

_Blue falcon._

Nappa's heart stopped. Vegeta. He was alive. He was alive and he was coming for him.

* * *

Panic sat heavy in Bulma's chest. Vegeta's eyes darting back and forth across his hands as he huffed angrily.

"Is...everything alright?" she questioned anxiously. "What can I do?"

"I don't know Blue." he chuckled to himself at the thought of her "helping" the situation.

He groaned as he leaned back on the couch and so did his stomach. For the briefest of moments, both Vegeta and Bulma forgot the seriousness of the situation at the ridiculousness of something so normal as hunger.

Bulma chuckled. Vegeta smiled, and then the strangest thing happened between them of all - they laughed together.

"Alright, comrade" Bulma jested, "let me get you some more pizza. I  _did_ promise you three afterall." She said with a wink as she walked to the kitchen.

"Do you want veggies or -" She asked as she walked back into the living room, a pizza in each hand. She smiled.

Vegeta was fast asleep. Bulma set the pizzas down and quietly tip-toed over to the couch. She slid as carefully as she could onto the couch and into his arms. Somehow laying with him she wasn't afraid anymore, she forgot all about bullets and bandages, all about the blood she couldn't seem to get out of the kitchen floor. The occasional bit of Russian softly punctuated the silence, as she watched as the darkness of night swallowed the twilight. She was more at peace than she could ever remember.

* * *

As always, the greatest of thanks to my valiant army of copy editors Hanko, Cindermane and dgschneider for tolerating my flurry of artistic writing and making it presentable! Especially Hanko for the late night write sesh.

And praises ever be to Her Holiness, Stupidoomdoodles and the lovely LadyVegeets for inspiring this fic and really for getting me writing for the first time.

Comments are welcome, say hello! I don't bite!


	7. The Smoke in Your Eyes

THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE SMOKE IN YOUR EYES

* * *

Content Warning: brief violence

* * *

JANUARY 3rd

ChiChi buried her face in the rough cotton sheet. She traced her fingers along the edges of the fabric counting the large, ugly stitches that turned the corners of the seams. Breathing in deeply, she felt the warmth of his body. He was so close to her yet so far out of reach. The ambience of the hospital room had become so familiar to her. In a way, this gaudy arm chair by the side of the bed had become her new home. She hated it.

There were no tears left to cry. She felt like a dry weed, dead but rooted to the Earth, unable to blow away in the wind. There she was tethered to the hospital, rooted to him, with only a hollow numbness that reverberated through her. She had spent so much time grieving. Her bones felt brittle. In a sense she was the last one alive. All she wanted to do was crawl into Goku's arms and slip into the darkness that held him.

Instead she continued to breathe. She breathed in the flickering, humming fluorescent lights, the sterile stench of plastics and antiseptic, the sound of the machinery that tied her husband's body to life. She would stumble on until she couldn't anymore, she had to. Gently turning his hand over she nuzzled into his rough palm.

That night she dreamt of his touch, his smile, and his laugh. She could've sworn she felt his thumb softly rubbing her cheek.

* * *

JANUARY 5th

Vegeta let the hot water trickle down his body, feeling it run over his stiff muscles and numb them. He turned it up until it stung his skin, then pressed his forehead to the cold tiles of the shower wall. He wasn't used to this feeling. Not at all. He had spent so much time working himself into knots, trying to figure out why Bulma had spent so much time with him, talking to him, trying to befriend him and now this. What were her motives? What was her angle? What was she after? To offer to have coffee with someone was one thing but to stay with them, to hold them while they bled to death and nurse them back to health was another matter entirely. It was a feeling he was unfamiliar with.

Vegeta was used to having all of his serious wounds treated back where ever headquarters was set up at the time. But it wasn't a favor, it wasn't an act of kindness, it was merely an investment. Vegeta was a valuable asset to the Cold Family. He represented a lot of time and money. It was important to them that his basic needs be met. He couldn't perform if they weren't. Somehow though, Bulma was different from anyone he had ever met. He wasn't an investment to her. He didn't chase down people who owed her money and threaten them. He didn't kill for her (though he gladly would if she had asked him to), steal for her, or shark for her. Nothing. He did nothing for her. She did what she did and asked nothing of him in return. Vegeta could not, for the life of him, understand why.

He felt indebted to her, in a way he had never felt to anyone or anything before. But how do you settle a debt like that? What did he have to offer her? His pent up frustration got the best of him, his fist colliding with the shower tiles. He looked down at his hands. They were ugly hands. Bent and misshapen from constant breaks and from thick calluses that covered his knuckles and joints. Scarred and bruised. This was it. This was the summation of his life. His whole person was in these hands and what they could do.

And that's when the idea came to him. But it would have to wait. He had work to finish first.

* * *

JANUARY 5th

Gohan shifted awkwardly against the frosty brick wall. He was trying very hard to do what Mr. Piccolo had asked of him but he wasn't quite sure he understood the exercise. Mr. Piccolo said they were "people watching". They had been there for a very long time now, Gohan's toes were beginning to feel numb. Every once in awhile Mr. Piccolo would say something like "Okay, kid. Find the man with the gun." It was a game of 'I, Spy' but Gohan never seemed to have the right answer. He still had yet to find the most recent person. Supposedly some "pharmacist". When Gohan had asked about it Mr. Piccolo only said "Someone who sells drugs, kid."

He tried hard to find the man or woman in question but he was cold, hungry, and confused. He looked back to Mr. Piccolo who watched the people passing by smoking thoughtfully.

Piccolo felt the boy's eyes on him but refused to acknowledge his gaze. The kid needed to work harder if he was going to make it out here. He shifted against the wall, lifting his foot and propping it up against the bricks.

"You know, that's going to kill you one day." The small boy said thoughtfully, looking up at Piccolo with wide eyes.

He sighed, placing a hand on the kid's head and turning it back towards the bustling crowd of shoppers.

_This kid. Fucking know-it-all._

* * *

Bulma heard a knock on her door and nearly flung her laptop off her folded legs and onto the floor. No one ever knocked on her door. She wasn't expecting a delivery and her friends always called. They were always gathering either at Kame House or The Golden Dragon. She was suddenly very afraid.

_Maybe they will just... go away?_

She was actually making progress for once and everything had been derailed in a matter of moments by the sound of a knock. The harsh rapid knocking began again after a few moments. Whoever they were, they were not going to give up. She cautiously padded over to the door and peered out the peephole as if it might bite her. She dropped the sheet of encrypted data on the floor, shaking hands reaching for the lock. It was Vegeta.

He shouldn't even be out of bed. Why was he here? Was something wrong? She threw the door open before unhooking the chain nearly smacking herself in the face. He looked surprised. He didn't often look surprised.

She stood there staring at him breathlessly.

"Bulma…" He looked her in the eyes and didn't look away. She thought her knees would give out from under her. He had called her Bulma. For a while she wasn't sure if he had even known what her name really was. She realised he was waiting for her to respond.

"Vegeta, you're walking already. How are you feeling?"

_Like total shit. Shouldn't be walking and definitely shouldn't have gone to the gym. How about you?_

There it was. That smile. He was just not going to answer that question.

"Yeah. I'm a tough guy." he smirked and patted his side. It hurt like hell.

They stood there for a time, eyes locked. The only sound was the simmering sauce on the stove. He realised he needed to say something, he was suddenly very unsure of himself. He rubbed his sweaty palms together and pulled the envelope from his jacket. It was all he had, might as well go for it. What's the worst that could happen, right?

"Here I, uh, wanted you to have this?" He handed her the note awkwardly and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He hoped she hadn't noticed.

"Oh." She was surprised that he had handed her anything. She was missing a golden opportunity if she didn't tease him. And Bulma rarely passed up an opportunity. "A love note, and all I had to do was save your life to get one." She winked at him and opened it.

It was a black, thick piece of linen parchment. There was nothing on the paper but a large, silver embossed symbol. It looked familiar. Where had she seen it before?

"What is this?" She asked, entranced as she traced her fingers along the silver inlays.

"It's an official sign. You put that in your window and you'll be safe from anyone in this city."

"Is this..." she felt a lump rise in her throat. "Is this the symbol of the people you work for? The ones who sent you on that suicide mission?"

_Uh. Oh._

"Yeah. Why? What's wrong?" before he could finish his thought he felt her small, soft hand connect with his face as she slapped him as hard as she could. He stumbled backwards.

"What the hell?" his hand on his cheek, he was more surprised than anything. She really wasn't all that strong. But this was not what he expected and it was definitely not the reaction he had hoped for. She had begun to sob.

"You know what? Fuck you." She was screaming now. "Fuck you. You damned insensitive moron." and with that he felt a rush of cool air as the door was slammed in his face.

_Hmm. Well that just happened. Wait. What the Hell. Just. Happened?_

This had definitely not gone according to plan. It was nice to have played pretend like he was a normal person for a while but his reality had caught up with him. He knew sooner or later he would ruin things and it looked like sooner.

He told himself he should go home but he didn't move. For a time he just stood there. Frozen. He patted his hands on his sides and rocked back and forth on his heels. What the hell was he going to do now? It was time for Plan B but there was no Plan B. So he just stood there and listened. He listened to her stomp around her apartment and listened as she weeped.

_Shit._

Before he could stop himself he found himself talking through the door. "I don't understand. I was being the nicest I've ever been to anyone in my entire life and you treat me like I killed your entire goddamn family." He started off good. Then it was just okay and by the end he found he was yelling.

He heard the pounding stomps of her footsteps as she came closer. From the sound of her voice she was smashing her face into the door.

"Oh please. Like you don't know what you did." her voice was venomous.

 _No._ That was the  _point_. He didn't know what he had done. He was irritated now.

"What the hell are you even talking about? I offered you the best protection you could ever dream of from the largest, most feared mob in the entire world. Why are you acting like this?"

He heard nothing. Then he heard the deadbolt. She flung the door open and then slammed it closed again. Black makeup was running down her face. She stood directly in front of him now fire in her eyes. He thought she might slap him again.

"And imagine how I feel getting dirty protection from the monsters who keep sending you into death traps and did  _this_  to you?" she gestured to his body with a sweeping motion. "And here you are  _still_  supporting them after all of that. After I sat there for  _four_ days and cried over your dying body like a dumbass." She was shouting, her voice breaking as the tears ran down her face. She gestured wildly to the door, blood still stained the whitewash even though Bulma had tried her best to scrub it out. The carpet was stained a dark brown.

He felt something. Something gross. He didn't like it. "I think I get it now." was all he managed to say.

_Wrong answer._

"You think? You. Think. No. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you don't." she yelled as her eyes grew desperate. She shook her head and scoffed, her shoulders falling. "You know what? Just get out of here, Vegeta." and with that she turned and slammed the door one final time, locking it behind her.

* * *

Chichi fell asleep still clutching the framed photograph and her cell phone. Just in case anyone were to call. This had become her life. She visited Goku in the mornings before she opened and at night after she closed. The doctors said he was improving but they still didn't know if he would ever wake up. Everyday they asked her the same question. If she was ready to say goodbye.

No. She wasn't.

Of course she wasn't. If he had really been improving like they said then they wouldn't keep asking her if she was going to put herself through this every single day. She wouldn't hear the nurses whisper and sigh in pity behind her back saying things like "One day she'll just stop coming. They always do." But they had never met Chichi. They didn't know her and they didn't know Goku. He was going to survive. She just knew he was.

She woke with a start to the sound of rapid knocking on the screen door. Her heart raced in her throat. She grabbed her sword. A weight old and familiar, but rusty in her hands. Her son and her husband had been taken from her. No one was going to just show up unannounced like this. Whoever it was they were in for a surprise. She wasn't going down without a fight.

She snuck to the door with her sword by her side. The rapid knocks began again. She waited and flung the door open to see a slender young man standing on the porch panting and leaning against the door frame. It was Bulma's friend from the restaurant.

She flung the screen door open.

"Nice piece." He smirked, nodding to the sword in her hand.

She almost smiled. "Uh. Please, come in." Vegeta took one more scan of the area and slipped inside.

Chichi set the reheated Chinese food on the table in front of him. "I'm sorry it's not fresh. It's from earlier today."

Vegeta shook his head and politely inhaled the food she had set in front of him. She sat patiently across from him. He looked like a hungry child. Ready for someone to strike him or take away his meal. Something inside her ached for him.

When he finished he set the fork gingerly on the plate and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thank you. I have news for you."

She held her breath.

"It took longer than I anticipated. I was…" he searched for the right word. "detained."

_Shot. You were freakin' shot._

"I was able to get a message to your son."

She told herself she would wait patiently for him to finish but she couldn't help herself. She found the words jumping from her mouth along with the fresh, hot tears spilling from her eyes.

"Gohan is alive? You saw him?"

"I did better than that. I spoke to him. I found him at a boxing gym down on 9th and Belmont."

_What was he doing all the way down there?_

"He is with Piccolo, also known as the Demon King. I spoke with him for a time. He told me he was well and that Piccolo had taken him on your husband's request that he protect him. I told him I would return him to you. He declined my offer."

Her heart sank. She found herself sobbing. She tried to stop it but she just couldn't. She was going to lose Goku and now she was going to lose Gohan too. "Please...tell him that I love him."

He continued to stare at her, his dark eyes intent and piercing.

"Mrs. Son you can tell him yourself." His voice was calm and patient. "He will rendezvous with you in two days. He said that he and Piccolo would be at Kame House. I assume that you know where that is?"

She nodded vigorously.

"Alright. I convinced him the danger the two of them face is far greater on their own than with the rest of the Z Fighters. For the time being, all of you should lie low."

 _Z Fighters? But. How did he know?_  He must have seen the confused look on her face. He smirked.

"I told you Mrs. Son, I'm very good at what I do." He stood to leave, holding his abdomen cautiously. "Remember. Kame House. Two days. Now if you'll excuse me I need to go." He carefully stood, nearly dropping back into the chair. He made his way to the door moving stiff and slow.

ChiChi thanked him profusely and told him she would never forget what he had done and that one day she would pay him back. He nodded and slipped into the shadows.

* * *

JANUARY 7th

The sound of a hum gently drew ChiChi from the inky dreamless sleep that held her. She felt the weight of a large hand pressing down on the back of her head.

She looked around the room for the source of the voice, but they were alone. Lifting up her head she heard it again and her heart stopped. It came from Goku. His dark eyes flickered open ever so slightly to meet hers and she felt the sinews of her fortitude snap, but this time not from the exhaustive battle of every day or from overwhelming grief that drowned her...no from a pure happiness and relief she had never before felt.

"Mmmmm….Chi…..you smell like noodles."

She broke into sobs and fits of laughter and she threw herself back into his lap, squeezing him as tightly as she could.

* * *

Vegeta had finally fallen into a rough and restless sleep. He thought of Bulma, he thought of Gohan, he thought of ChiChi, he thought of Nappa. He woke suddenly as a scream pierced the air. That voice. He knew that voice.

 _Bulma._  "Bulma?"  _oh no._

He shot up faster than he should have, instinctually pulling the gun from underneath the lumpy pillow bunched underneath his head and clicking off the safety, adrenaline oozing over the pain that stabbed through his abdomen and into his arms.

He was functioning purely on instinct now. Before he knew it he was out his door and at hers, he slammed the back of his shoulder blade into the weak point of the door, busting it off its hinges and open with a loud, splintering  _CRACK_. He slid through the door, his gun aimed into the darkness.

"Ve-Vegeta?" Bulma stood in nothing but a lace tank top and a dainty pair of striped panties. She was holding her broom above her head like a baseball bat.

He swooped her behind him into the crook of the corner and aimed his gun at the open room. "Where are they?" his eyes traced the contours of the shadows of the room like an expert hunter. Patient but swift. He watched her shaking finger point down to the opposite corner of the kitchen.

"It's...it's a mouse." she replied sheepishly. She watched his shoulders drop slowly and his head turn, expressionless. He blinked slowly.

"What?" He heard her but it was not computing. A mouse?

"There's a mouse in my kitchen." She nearly shrieked pointing at the small creature in the opposite corner of the linoleum floor. It sat unafraid, cleaning it's whiskers.

"Oh." was all he was able to muster as he stared at the tiny grey fluff.

"You...you broke my door." Bulma proclaimed with shock in her voice.

"...I did." he muttered looking back at the splintered door moaning on its hinges.

"And...And you brought a gun?" she asked with added exasperation.

"Yeah." he suddenly felt totally unprepared for everything that was happening. She had screamed and he had reacted and this is where it got him.

"You friggin insane asshole." She was sobbing now as she began to beat on his chest with her fists. "You're not supposed to react like this." She screamed. " _No one_  reacts like this. What the hell is wrong with you?" He wasn't sure what to do. He stood there awkwardly. All of his training had prepared him to protect her but nothing had prepared him for a reaction like this. He held his gun gingerly in one hand.

"I….I'm sorry?" he whispered to her. He was absolutely unsure about whether or not it was the right thing to say but it was his last resort. She had balled her fists up in his shirt and was crying into his chest..

"I'm sorry too." she cried as she nestled her face deeper into his chest. He felt his heartbeat thicken. Without warning she threw her arms around him and nuzzled her face into his neck. What? What was she doing? He was so confused. So confused by all of this. He cautiously lifted his arms and wrapped them around her. The warmth that lit somewhere between their bodies was so remarkable. He found himself melting into her arms, pulling her closer and breathing her in. She smelled like sweet earth and spices. They melted together for what felt like eternity until he finally broke the silence.

"...you screamed that loud over a mouse?"

She made no move to break their embrace. "Oh shut up, Vegeta."

When she finally pulled away she felt something odd. She was  _wet_. She lifted her arms. The intricate white lace of her tank top was splotched with pink and red streaks. Vegeta saw it too.

_Downplay it. It's fine._

"Blue...I... I'll get you a new shirt."

She looked at him like he was insane. "Are you kidding me? You think this is about the shirt? You're still bleeding Vegeta. It's almost been a week. Let me see it."

_That worked well._

"I'm fine." He replied gruffly without opening his eyes, but he wasn't fine at all. Not unless her room had begun to spin on it's own.

Vegeta was most definitely absolutely not fine. He knew that...and she knew it too.

"Please Vegeta, let me look at it."

She was peering into him with those beautiful blue eyes. They held the skies and the stars themselves.  _Damn her._  He told himself he wasn't going to give into her this time, he found his hand moving away from his bandaged abdomen. It felt moist and with every motion, no matter how small he felt like a dead tree threatening to topple in the wind.  _Uh-oh. Maybe she had a point._  He looked down at his dressings. They were slowly seeping, transitioning from a stark white into a dark pink. He had pushed it too hard too fast.

_Shit._

She looked way more worried than she should be. It was just leaking a little. Had she never seen a bullet wound before? Wait. No, she probably hadn't.

_Quick, she's starting to cry. Say something to make her feel better._

"It's….it's not a big deal. It's just a little blood."

Wrong answer.

Her face twisted into an expression he couldn't quite read. He wasn't sure if she was angry or horrified.

She was both. Definitely both.

"You listen here mister, I know you think that you are invincible, but you are not." her voice quivered. "You let me look at it right now or I swear I will call Launch to come and help me."

 _Shit._ That was not going to work. He needed to stay away from that psychotic Crane until he could at least stand. His eyes narrowed.

"Do you  _want to die_?" she blurted out in anxious desperation.

He didn't miss a beat. "Always, Blue."

"This isn't a joke, Vegeta." She screamed . "Apparently I'm the only one that cares about you. You don't even give a damn. You almost died and you act like you couldn't care less."

She pushed him over to the couch and sat him down. He sat reluctantly, gun still in his hand. Everyone just needed to stop making a big deal out of it. He'd been in worse shape before and he had the scars to prove it. But he let her go, let her pace, and when she finally sat next to him he spoke. "Look Blue, this isn't the first time I've been shot, it's not the first time I've almost died either. It really  _isn't_ a big deal. It just needs time to seal back up. I just got up a little too fast and a little too hard. I heard you scream and I…"

She grinned mischievously. "You were worried about me?"

"Well….yes. No. ...I-." Yes. He was. He had been terrified.

"Don't feel bad. I worry about you too." She began to dig around the kitchen looking for the bag Launch had left. He knew where it was...on his kitchen counter next to his plant. If he was lucky she wouldn't-

"Wait." She whipped around pointing at him. "They're at your place." She padded over to him, the gentle sway of her hips made him uneasy. She grabbed him by the wrist with both hands and pulled as hard as she could, yanking him off the couch. "Come on, comrade, let's go." She saluted and began to march towards the door stopping momentarily at the table to grab a bag that sat on the edge and carelessly scoop the contents of the dining table into the bag. He swallowed hard, watching the ceiling. She was still wearing nothing but panties.

"Bulma...don't you wanna…"

She stopped at the door, looking confused. Apparently, she didn't mind nearly as much as he did. She didn't even seem to notice the lack of pants.

"What? We don't have all night, slowpoke." Placing her hands on her bare hips and leaning forward playfully. He felt odd, like something in his stomach was twisting and turning, trying to crawl out of his body.

"Y-yeah." he scoffed and trudged after her.

* * *

He set the grocery bag down on the floor at their feet as if it might bite him, then leaned back on the couch carefully. He had brought two beers with him. He didn't drink, but she didn't know that. He wasn't quite sure why he had bought them. One night, when it was so late the sun had almost risen, he had dropped by the mini-mart to stock up and saw them. It reminded him of that night, leaning against the door, talking to her about useless, nonsense. And he bought them. They had remained in his fridge untouched since then. Bulma snuggled up to his arm carefully, smiling up at him.

"Vegeta, I have a question for you." she slowly leaned her head onto his shoulder. His skin was so warm. He smelled like musky Earth and antiseptic.

"I probably won't answer but I can't stop you from asking." He took a swig of his drink and adjusted his arm so it hung over the back of the couch. He had just left this couch and now he was back. It was odd that she was here. Very odd. It felt odd. He needed to think about it. Or not, he could just  _not._

She smiled at his response. "I appreciate that you were worried about me but...what made you think it was a good idea to bust into my apartment with a gun?"

_Oh boy._

"I wasn't..."

"What?"

"I wasn't thinking. I heard you scream and I just reacted." he was suddenly embarrassed, his face felt hot, he took another drink to avoid having to speak again.

"Oh….I guess, it's just a surprising reaction."

It wasn't though. That seemed to be the problem. He had spent all of his life training to be a fine-tuned machine and he was just that. Thinking of his training reminded him of  _them._  He didn't want to think of them. Or any of it. He tried to push it to the back of his mind but he couldn't. He found himself mumbling under his breath.

"Okay. Time to take care of this." She said wiggling out from beneath his arm and running a finger along his bandages.

_Tzch._

Bulma leaned him forward and unwrapped his torso with care. She was cautious and careful. He wasn't sure if she was being kind or just nervous. But he appreciated it either way. He rapidly pressed buttons with one hand on his small phone. After a few moments he exhaled sharply and snapped it shut. Bulma thought better than to question him about what had happened.

"So Vegeta, tell me." She settled down on the couch behind him, scooting backward "earlier...you were…" she found herself trailing off , unable to finish her sentence.

"What?" he grumbled quietly, struggling to hide the pain he was in.

"Nothing. You were just…" she couldn't bring herself to ask him the questions that had been running in her mind over and over again for days. She needed to switch the subject.

_Quick. Uh..._

"So...when did you start working for these guys anyways?"

_Wait. Stop. Abort. That's -_

He didn't lift his head or look at her. He simply spoke into his hand that covered his face in what appeared to be casual disinterest. "I was five."

_Shit. Good job Bulma. Okay. Bye Frying pan. Hello Fire._

"Oh. Huh. What did your parents think of that?"Bulma had tried to ask as casually as possible but for days all she could think about was little Vegeta - broken, scared, alone...with no one to hold him. It suddenly made sense that he didn't know what a Christmas was. What else didn't he know. It made her angry. She hated his parents for what they had done to him. Hated these people she knew literally nothing about.

"Nothing. They were dead."

_God. Damn. It._

Suddenly her misplaced hatred had nowhere to go, expect to her chest and her eyes. She tried not to cry, and for someone so practiced she was awfully bad at it.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." she sniffled as she wrapped her arms around him from the back.

"Its okay." He sounded like someone was speaking to him about sports that he didn't bother wasting his time or energy watching.

Bulma cleaned the wound in awkward silence. Vegeta's hand still covered his face. Afterwards she gingerly got up, walked over to the counter and grabbed the rest of the supplies.

"So. What are we going to do for the rest of the night?" she asked, a twinkle in her eye that sent shivers down his core and between his legs. She must have seen it in his eyes because she laughed. Pure music.

His mind raced around the empty apartment. He couldn't send her back to her place, it was a freakin' doorless wreck.

_Ugh...let's see...I have...a plant._

Then he had an idea. He smirked at her. "Hey. Blue. You like movies, don't you?"

* * *

Bulma's eye peaked out from the space between his arm and his ribcage, her body folded up as close to Vegeta as possible, her knees brushing against the mop of blue hair that had been pulled this way and that, mercilessly for ninety minutes straight. The highest of squeals barely escaping her.

He couldn't help but smile, he lifted his arm, though she tried to hold it where it was. "Y'alright there Blue?"

Her other hand snuck up to sit on his shoulder, pressing a tentative "thumbs-up" into his cheek. He laughed.

"Do you want me to spoil it for you?" he asked. He had been watching her for nearly the entire time. Not that he needed to watch the movie. He had seen it nearly a thousand times.

"No." she squeaked desperately. "Just tell me if the alien is in the room."

"But you just said you didn't want me to-" just then she jumped and screamed, reacting to the film. He laughed again, wrapping his arms around her and running his hands through her hair.

It was the most tender expression he had ever made. He caught himself mid-act, it felt so natural, but so foreign. He stopped and gingerly dropped his hand to his side.

She grabbed fistfulls of his shirt and buried her face deeper in old, worn cotton, using the other hand to pick up his hand and place it over her eyes as her own hands were insufficient to block her view. She could see clearly through his fingers..

Resting his face against her head, closing his eyes, and listening to the odd mixture of the film and Bulma's terrified sounds, He unintentionally found himself singing under his breath with Ripley.

"You are my lucky star...you are…."

The he did something dangerous. He let go, let his mind wander and let it wonder. Wonder if this was what life was like, what it could be like for  _him_. Life with her could be real, it could be his. It…

He hadn't realized the tape had reached its end, static running across the screen. He leaned forward and with his toe, pushed the tape back in and pressed "Stop" and "Rewind".

The tape whirred as it rewound.

"So Blue, how did you like it?" he was actually genuinely interested in finding out, though he wasn't quite sure why. He didn't much care what anyone thought ever. He should've known better than to try and reason it out.

She looked up at him with wide eyes. "Vegeta. That was a good movie. But...why on Earth would you watch it on purpose. That was  _terrifying._ "

He laughed, falling into her deep blue eyes, furrowed with concern and fear.

"I watched that one with you, but I'm not watching the other, like, twelve movies they made, I swear. I like you Vegeta, but not  _that_  much."

"There are more?" his voice shocked her, nearly causing her to fall off the couch.

"Yes...?" she questioned cautiously. "I'm sorry I keep forgetting you were raised by Cossacks." she teased, flicking his nose with her finger. She leaned into his chest, sighing, and looking up at him. "Vegeta?"

"Hmm."

"I...I was just wondering...why this movie? Why haven't you seen any others."

"Nappa. He used to work with my father. When I came under Frieza's employ I stayed with Nappa until I was old enough to run point. Unless I was training, that is. He...was never really good with kids...or anything for that matter. He didn't like me being up and about while he slept, so he would pop in the tape and set me down and I'd watch until I fell back asleep. Don't know where he got the movie."

Her fingers ran under the neck of his tank top and across the scars that marred his chest, with her words and her gentle touch, her fingers dug into the layers of ash that had long since buried his brief life before Frieza. What little real childhood he may have had that burned alive that night began to crackle in like logs in a fire. Snapping and sending smoldering embers flying through the air to land where they please, some smoldering out into the darkness, and some igniting uncontrollable fires that consumed everything in their path. He tried to swallow them but they had been pushed down for too long. He found himself wandering through ash and snow, words slurring from his mouth.

He mused leaning into her lap. "Everytime I try and remember my mother, she fades a little more. I don't even remember what she looks like. Blue, I don't even know her name. When I try to remember her all I can see is Ripley."

"Ripley?" Bulma questioned.

"Yeah. But I guess that's okay. I can pretend and…. and then it feels less like she never existed at all."

It struck Bulma that his voice was so numb, like a child asked to read aloud in front of his classmates. Blassé and distant. Bulma didn't fight the tears that trickled down her face and dripped into his shirt. She rubbed slow circles on his chest with her delicate fingertips.

"It was a fire. They were trapped inside and they burned alive. I still remember the sound of her screams. She was looking for me. Calling out my name."

Bulma didn't want to interrupt him. His thoughts seemed to be thin and gentle like wisps of smoke floating through the air and she was afraid if she asked the wrong question that they would dissipate.

"It burned fast and hot and when the fire died down there was nothing left but ash. That's when he took me. He was there that night. Frieza was. He….stood there with me. We watched, waited for someone….anyone... to come and save them but no one did."

His eyes were distant but they ran back and forth as though taking in the brush strokes of a painting. She had seen the look before, he was no longer here. He stood where she could not stand with him, in front of the smoldering ashes. He continued sleepily "When bodies burn, Blue...they smell...strange. I never got used to it. And…" he added with an odd expression, one she couldn't quite place, "No matter where you stand smoke gets in your eyes."

She let tears drip generously down her face, twisting the muscles around her eyes until they burned. She found herself wrapping her arms around him and pulling him in tightly and letting herself sob, nuzzling her face into his chest. He stiffened, unsure of how to respond.

His hands wandered through the air between his lap and her back until he settled on the back of her head. He gently patted it a few times in what was the most genuine expression of empathy he could muster.

He had no idea what was going on.

His eyes roamed around awkwardly. He didn't want to think about his mother or that night more than he already was right now. Vegeta's eyes darted awkwardly around the room until he resolved that it wasn't going to end anytime soon. He needed to accept it for what it was. He settled into the embrace and tried to relax as best he could.

They spoke deep into the night, she asked him question after question. It was the first time that Vegeta had spoken of any of these things to anyone. The words felt strange on his tongue. These experiences should've stayed in the past, long dead and buried, but he found himself stirring them to the surface again like stepping onthe the muddy bottom of a river and watching the clouds of muckfog the water. They spoke until the sky became a dusty purple and brilliant orange streams burst through the fluffy storm clouds. They fell asleep tucked gently away in each other's arms.

* * *

JANUARY 8th

Vegeta woke after a couple of hours to a bright, warm light piercing his eyes. It was coming from her bag. He needed to get going. He felt for her but she was gone. Something felt missing. He rubbed his eyes and reached down out of curiosity. It was coming from a small glass orb. One of multiple that the bag contained. It had caught sunlight and was reflecting it back brightly into Vegeta's eyes. It felt oddly warm for a heavy glass object, having been hidden in a bag all night.

Bulma stepped out of the bathroom, Vegeta's one towel draped loosely around her petite frame. She was rubbing her wet hair with one of his t-shirts. He dropped the orb and kicked the bag away in one swift moment. She met him back at the couch, sitting next to him, her cheeks rosy from the hot water of the shower.

"Next thing I'm going to buy you is some proper toiletries."

_What does that even mean?_

"Hey. Blue. What's that?" Gesturing to the bag with his head casually as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and rolled his shoulders.

"Oh." Her face lit up for a moment. "One sec, I'll show you." She hopped up with great enthusiasm and skipped over to the kitchen grabbing it and lightly tossing it between her hands on the way back to the couch. She handed it to Vegeta. It was  _warm._

She settled in next to him, genuine excitement on her face. He was curled up using the couch as best he could to support his aching frame without letting her know just how badly his body hurt. Their gazes met and fireworks seemed to sparkle in the blue sky of her eyes.

"This is a Dragon Ball. A long time ago but not too long ago, there was a brilliant doctor. His name was Kami. Now Kami lived in a peaceful country. One day, that country was attacked and it began what was known as the Night of the Long War. It was a war that lasted nearly fifty years and Kami spent much of it treating soldiers. He was distraught by all of the wanton destruction and death. After the war ended he lost his sense of purpose. he no longer spent his time treating wounded soldiers but they still haunted his thoughts. He devised a plan. He would create something, something that would allow a man to live again. Now, the legend says that he actually succeeded. Nobody knows how though. Just before Kami died he sealed the secrets of his research into seven glass orbs and scattered them across the globe. It is said if you find all seven you could unlock the secret to Kami's research and finish what he started. Some even say, they hold the key to immortality. But no one knows. No one has ever found all seven."

She told him briefly of her research and her quest to find them and by the end of it he had curled into the corner of the couch the ball set carefully in front of him. She was gently stroking his back, the towel moving this way and that as she moved.

He swallowed hard, she wasn't sure if he was struggling not to cry or if the pain was getting to him.

"What do you think?" he didn't open his eyes, shivered ever so slightly at her touch. It surprised her that he had been listening at all.

"Hmm?" She questioned gently.

"Do you think it's real?"

"Oh...I don't know...but I am going to find out."

Bulma wrapped his towel around her naked body as she stepped out into the cold hallway, following him. "So I guess you're going to…"

"Yeah.. ' going to work'." He didn't want to leave. He had been gone so long the chances of things going South for this were already very high. Besides he was going to kill Nappa today. He needed to stop putting that off.

"Pfft. Yeah if you want to call it that." She smiled at him gently but her eyes betrayed her. She didn't want him to leave either.

"Hey. Thanks for hanging around... after last night's...fiasco." He shrugged timidly and shifted back and forth.

"Yeah, well, to be honest, I didn't feel safe in a freakin' doorless apartment." Again, she smiled that honey smile, staring at him with those starlight eyes. He wanted to look away but he couldn't. He could fall into her gaze and drown in her eyes. He felt like such an oaf. Such an idiot. He saw the splintered door behind her.

_Say something. Make it better. Quick._

"Yeah I'll pay for the repairs an-" before he could finish his sentence she turned her head and kissed him gently on the cheek. He found his hand reach up to touch his cheek in disbelief.

She giggled then added flirtatiously "Just, uh, if you want to drop by again tonight. We will do something other than 'talk' this time...if you want..." She winked at him and bit down on her bottom lip. "Enjoy your day at work." She slid a finger from his lips down to the zipper of his hoodie then gently lifted her hand off and closed his door.

_Holy. Shit._

* * *

Nothing on Earth could possibly ruin his mood. It was simultaneously the shortest and longest day Vegeta had ever had. He wanted nothing more than to get back home so he could go across the hall.

Vegeta stepped into his apartment to drop his bag...a duffle full of drugs, cash, and assorted "tools" would probably ruin whatever mood they were going for. As he pushed open the door his mind wasn't in his apartment, it was across the hall with Bulma, only the sound of the broken flower pot underneath his foot ripped him back to his surroundings. By the time he noticed the turned couch and broken television, it was far too late. She was the first thing he thought of. They would come for her too.

He turned to shout her name but nothing came out. He felt a hand and a delicate, sweet-scented cloth wrap around his mouth and another hand around his throat. They pulled him backwards violently. It burned and then he felt himself slip into the abstract shapelessness.

* * *

As always, the greatest of thanks to my valiant army of copy editors Hanko, Cindermane and dgschneider for tolerating my flurry of artistic writing and making it presentable! Especially Hanko for the late night write sesh.

And praises ever be to Her Holiness, Stupidoomdoodles and the lovely LadyVegeets for inspiring this fic and really for getting me writing for the first time.

Comments are welcome, say hello! I don't bite!


	8. The Little Prince

THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

* * *

 

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE LITTLE PRINCE

* * *

 

Content Warning: graphic depiction of torture, mention of rape.

* * *

 

JANUARY 8th

Thick darkness enveloped Vegeta. It was a technique he was familiar with. Sensory deprivation wasn't new, and it wasn't very original either. On top of that, Zarbon wasn't doing a particularly great job at it. Vegeta would definitely have given him some pointers - had he been on the  _other_  side of the chair.

That being said, Zarbon had clearly been thinking about this for a while. He wasted no time and was aptly prepared with very creative ways to entertain himself and pass the hours they spent together in the cold, concrete room.

A cool voice drifted through the dark, echoing off the stone walls "Let's start from the beginning again Vegeta," he felt Zarbon circling around like a vulture. Vegeta responded exactly the same way he had each time before. Taking care to not change his answers at all and to sound as disinterested as possible.

"Maybe you should write this down, Zarbon. You're having a hard time remembering it." he cleared his throat, sarcastically. "Ready? Okay. November. Oscar. Sierra. Tango. Romeo. Oscar. Mike. Oscar. 1-8-0-niner-2-4-6-0-niner." Vegeta repeated, for probably the hundredth time.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?"

"Yes, actually I do." he smirked.

"How stupid do you think I am?" Zarbon spat back.

_Uh. Probably shouldn't answer that._

"Now, Zarbon, how  _honest_  do you want me to be with you?"

"Is this some sort of game to you?" Zarbon hissed.

Vegeta was getting to him and it was excruciatingly satisfying. He may be on the wrong side of the chair but he was in control now. He knew it and Zarbon knew it.

"Well, I don't know about you Zarbon, but  _I_ , for one, have had an excellent time."

That was a lie. This was fucking awful. He was tired, hungry, and in excruciating pain. But he was a professional and he would not be broken. Not today, not ever.

"…I just can't help but feel like you're hiding something from me Vegeta. And if you're not going to cooperate then I'm going to have to  _take_  what I want from you." He could hear the smile in Zarbon's voice now. Something had shifted.

He strained his ears. The sound of metal scraping against metal. His head was shoved backwards violently. He clenched his jaw tight as something cold was placed around it. He recognized the device, he had used it before himself.

_Karma is a freakin' bitch._

As the cold metal tightened on his face his jaw opened wider and wider, a sick pop resonated through his open mouth. Vegeta felt his entire skull wrench upwards, it felt as though his skull and spine would pop apart with a wet crack, the tooth pulling his spine out of his mouth along with it. Then it happened. Relief, in incredible blinding pain. He didn't scream. He didn't cry. He wouldn't give Frieza the satisfaction, for even though he couldn't see him he could  _feel_  him. He was close by. He knew it.

The empty socket in the back of his jaw gushed, filling his open mouth with blood faster than he could swallow it. The awkward angle his head was forced at, cricked into the right side of his shoulder and up towards the ceiling made it impossible to clear his airway. He sputtered, blood spraying from his open mouth. A pathetic gurgle resonated in the back of his throat. Zarbon's laughter filled his ears. As he felt the cold pliers wrap around another molar he felt himself fall. It was the strangest sensation, like slipping backwards out of himself into a frozen river after baking in the sweltering sun. His body shivering and sweating and finally feeling nothing at all.

* * *

 

JANUARY 17th

The days passed painfully slow. Bulma had spent more time at Kame House now that Goku had returned from the hospital. On Vegeta's recommendation, the Son family and Piccolo were staying there to avoid further incident for the time being.

_Vegeta._

There was no sign of Vegeta anywhere and there hadn't been. It was as though he had been whisked away into the darkness, nothing but a faint memory. As she winded through the hallway holding her armful of pathetic groceries Bulma's thoughts clung to him desperately. His crooked smile, his scent, his general disdain for existence and humanity as a whole. She almost laughed. Absentmindedly she unlocked her apartment and stepped inside, throwing the paper bag on the counter and dropping her purse on the floor at her feet.

For the first time in days something pulled her from her thoughts. Inside her locked apartment, upon the kitchen table, sat a box. The outside of the box had one word written on the top of it.

_BLUE._

Bulma drew the curtains, locked the door, and barricaded it for good measure. It had been  _nine days_ now. Nine days since she had seen him. Nine days since she had heard his voice. It felt so much longer. She wasn't sure what to think but she knew if Krillin found out he would whisk the box away to the station for further investigation. It could take days, maybe longer, she couldn't wait that long.

Unsure of why she felt so urgent, she just  _knew_  that by then, it could be too late.

* * *

 

Vegeta wasn't sure how much time had passed inside the VIP Suite but he knew it had been more than a few days. His muscles ached and burned from stiffness. He felt weak. His captors were doing their best to throw off his sense of time, sometimes visiting minutes apart, sometimes hours. They denied him food, all but once, barely gave him water, and deprived him of sleep, allowing him to doze for short spurts only to wake him up with severe punishment. But he had played the game too many times to be thrown off so easily. He was the master, the Best of the Best. If they wanted to play they were going to have to do better than to throw Zarbon and Dodoria at him for a few days in a concrete room with some metal toys.

Employing a practice that had been taught to him as a child, he sent his mind to another place. Focusing on anything but here. It wandered to Bulma. Her voice, the warm spice of her scent, her ocean eyes. The mere thought of her almost warmed him. He was all alone in the room now, blood dribbling from his mouth and down his front. His neck ached but his head was too heavy to keep upright. He was so tired, he felt it in all of his muscles and his joints. It felt as though they would seize up and turn to dust. If only he could just close his eyes. Just sleep for a little while... As he began to drift off the metal door slammed behind him and he jumped.

He heard a stifled giggle.

It was still pitch black in the room. Suddenly he was flooded with bright light from above. He should've seen it coming. He had used the same procedure before. He blinked rapidly hoping his eyes adjusted faster.

A sickly sweet voice drifted through the air like the fetid stench of carrion,"'Les hommes ont oublié cette vérité, dit le renard. Mais tu ne dois pas l'oublier. Tu deviens responsable pour toujours de ce que tu as apprivoisé'...do you know what that means Vegeta?"

Of course he did. He didn't say anything though. He sat in silence as though he hadn't heard the voice at all. He heard the soft fluttering of old paper.

" I would hope you have retained enough of your French to understand it." He paused and then continued in a theatrical voice. "Men have forgotten this truth,' said the fox. 'But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.'"

Vegeta felt a cold, soft hand trail along his sore, swollen jaw and lift his chin gently.

"Do you know what this means, little prince?" Vegeta didn't respond. He met Frieza's gaze with as much poison as he could muster in his one working eye but it came out rather pathetic.

"It means I'm responsible for you: for your actions, for your hopes, your dreams….for your  _failures_ , Vegeta." Frieza's voice darkened with his last words, fear twisted up inside of Vegeta like a coiling snake. He swallowed it, trying to push it back down.

_Don't move. Don't let him see it's working._

"Which means," he bent down and met Vegeta's gaze with a sick satisfaction in his eyes. "I'm also responsible for your punishment."

* * *

 

Bulma stared down at the long box. The anticipation was palpable but now that she was there something was stopping her.

"Well, here goes nothing, right?" she managed a cheerful tone, hoping the empty room would reassure her of her decision. Donning a pair of yellow kitchen gloves, she used a steak knife and carefully cut the plastic tape that ran along the seams of the box and lifted the tabs carefully. Her heart hammered in her chest. Inside the box there was three smaller cardboard boxes. They were labeled simply and cleanly. The one on the left had a "#1" printed on the top of it underneath it it read "past", the box in the middle had a "#2" printed on the top of it and read "present", and the box on the right had a "#3" printed on it and read "future".

Carefully pulling the first box out of the larger box, she sliced the plastic tape that held it closed. There was an envelope. Nothing else.

Swallowing hard, Bulma picked up the envelope and opened it delicately, as if it might bite her if she were too rough with it. Her throat tightened. The envelope contained a series of large photo prints. Some of her happiest childhood moments captured on the glossy paper. Age 5, age 12, age 16 and then...photos of her and Vegeta together, in the hallway outside their apartment, entering The Golden Dragon, at the cafe.

Bulma let the photos fall from her hands to the floor. She felt like her lungs had collapsed on themselves. Her body was frozen. The only thing that moved were the tears that pumped from her eyes.

_What is this?_

Suddenly she remembered something Vegeta had said to her over a month ago. "Unless you want to get yourself killed...or worse…." She felt hot and prickly, nausea wiggling around her insides.

Vegeta. Did he send this? No. He wouldn't. Who had then?

She could do this. Whatever this was,  _whoever_  sent it. She needed to know what they wanted. For a moment, just a moment, she considered phoning Goku and Krillin. She always felt safer with them around and Krillin would probably have some good insights. But she couldn't waste that time and she worried about what Krillin would do if he got his hands on the box.

She gently lifted the second box from it's large cardboard coffin. "Present". Her hands were shaking so bad she almost couldn't open it. It contained a small, yellowed paper folded in quarters and a flash drive.

She unfolded the page with care. It smelled like ancient parchment and bleach. It looked old, very old. The bottom of the page read "35" at the center. There was a simple color illustration below a body of text. It was of a little boy on what looked to be a grey hill, he was kneeling next to a red rose. She recognized the language, it was French but she didn't speak or read French and she wasn't about to waste her time translating it right now. That would have to wait.

Nearly tripping over her own legs to grab her laptop from her bag, she yanked it open and booted it up, drumming her fingers on the desk impatiently as it went through the startup sequence. She pushed the thumb drive into the slot and watched as the screen fritzed. No folders, no files. It began running its own program. The first thing that appeared on the screen was an initiation sequence, then a timestamp roller. It was happening  _live_.

A dark, concrete room came into view. It was empty, save for the chair that sat bolted in the middle of the room. In the chair there sat a man, he was slender and wore a grey hoodie and jeans, both of which were splattered with blood. His arms were bound behind him, a burlap sack over his head. The man's body threatened to fall forward out of the chair but the ropes behind him kept him there, yanking him back every time he began to fall.

A second man appeared, circling around him slowly, like a vulture. "Are we ready to cooperate?" the voice taunted.

The burlap sack lolled back and forth. This way and that. The second man sighed with irritation. He stood behind the chair, yanking the sack backwards violently. A moan came from the seated man.

"It's rude to fall asleep when someone is talking to you." The man hissed. "Let's try this _again_ , shall we?"

"Well, try being more engaging this time." the seated man groaned under the sack. His indignant voice woven with pain and pride.

Then the man walked away, leaving the seated man to sit there in silence. He didn't return for fifteen minutes and when he did he was wearing gloves and had a tray of tools with him.

The man circled around quietly, he was enjoying this. He whispered affectionately "You don't know how  _long_  I have waited for this."

The voice coughed as it tried to speak. "Tzch….S...Since yesterday?" came a rough muffled voice from the sack.

This clearly got under the man's skin. He erupted with anger "I did not tell you you could speak." He drove a hard punch into the man's gut pushing him as far forward as his restraints would allow. The man coughed, then chuckled.

"You know Zarbon that's funny, because yesterday you were  _begging_  me to talk."

Zarbon was beginning to lose his composure.

"Enough." he hissed walking behind the man again. They couldn't see what he did, but it appeared as though he grabbed his tied hands. The seated man fought a scream, he caught it in his throat before it escaped, turning it into a hoarse hum and then a cough, his body convulsing and jerking forward with pain. Zarbon got closer.

"How are your hands doing?"

The seated man stabilized his breathing and retorted with a breathy laugh "Why don't you untie me and I'll show you."

"I'm afraid that's just not possible. You still haven't told me anything I want to know. But I have a feeling that's about to change." There was something in the man's hand. It was too dark to see what it was. Then it happened, with a jerk he removed the burlap sack from the seated man's head.

The young man slumped forward gasping for fresh air. His face was mottled with bruises. Blood dripped generously from his nose and a split in his forehead. One of his eyes was completely swollen shut. A mix of blood and spit dribbled from his open mouth. His other eye struggled to stay open, it flickered fiercely at Zarbon, full of fire.

"Well, get on with it then. I don't have all day." the seated man chided.

Under all of that he was barely recognizable.  _Barely_  but still there was no mistaking it. It was him. It was Vegeta. She felt something twist deep inside of her, curling her fingers, digging her nails into the soft pads of her hands.

Bulma was frozen, mouth agape, tears spilling from her wide eyes. Fear gripped her deep inside, seizing her muscles. She closed her mouth and tried to blink away the tears.

Eventually she gave up, wrapping her arms around herself and hugging her knees to her chest, sobbing quietly into herself as she watched the horror unfold. There was something in his eyes that felt like ice inside her bones. She clawed the ground around her desperately for her phone. If there was a doubt in her mind before, it had vanished without a trace. She needed Goku and Krillin. Now.

* * *

 

Zarbon left after about thirty more minutes of fruitless interrogation and Vegeta was alone. His head hung low, a thin line of blood dripping from his mouth onto the floor below.

_Plip. Plip. Plip._

He heard a pathetic whimper escape his own lips "you….are….my lucky star…. my …..lucky….lucky…"

He let himself fall back into the chair, his head hanging over the back towards the dark ceiling taking in as much air as his tight chest would he was in places like this, and he found himself in them  _surprisingly often_ , he found his mind would go to another place. Everything about this was a recipe for disaster. He knew it was possible he'd end up in The VIP Suite. He had been here before but he spent a majority of his time on the other side of the chair and that was the way he preferred it.

He remembered every single time he sat in this very chair. Sometimes when he'd sit there he'd go somewhere else. Somewhere worse.

The air caught in his throat when he he heard a voice. Frieza must have been there the whole time, at least since Zarbon left.

"'Il faut exiger de chacun ce que chacun peut donner, reprit le roi. L'autorité repose d'abord sur la raison. Si tu ordonnes à ton peuple d'aller se jeter à la mer, il fera la révolution. J'ai le droit d'exiger l'obéissance parce que mes ordres sont raisonnables.'" He paused for a moment "'One must command from each what each can perform,' the king went on. 'Authority is based first of all upon reason. If you command your subjects to jump into the ocean, there will be a revolution. I am entitled to command obedience because my orders are reasonable.'"

Vegeta heard the pages flutter and the spine crackle as the book closed. Frieza set it gently on the metal table containing a pile of bloody instruments. He walked closer, his hands adjusting his tie and cuffs as though he were about to walk into a very important meeting.

"You can still fix this Vegeta. I imagine you'd like to leave here, wouldn't you? You must be terribly sore amongst other things and though this game  _is_  fun we do have other things to do than play with you all day everyday." Frieza snickered.

Bulma's eyes darted around the screen to the time stamp. Something prickled in her gut. The timestamp indicated the video had been running for almost ten days.

Vegeta's head jerked forward, it looked as though he were losing consciousness.

"You look tense Vegeta? Maybe you need to get out of that chair for a little while, hmm?" with a swift motion Frieza sliced the ropes holding Vegeta's hands behind the chair and he fell face first onto the cold, bloody concrete below.

A soft whimper escaped his throat as his legs collapsed, extending beneath him. Pain rushed through his body like thousands of hot needles forcing their way out through his cold, stiff skin. He willed his arms to move, trying to pull them forward and push himself up but his poorly bandaged left hand was useless, the best he could do is lean on his right forearm and collapse again. They felt like slush slipping through his fingers, he didn't have control over his own body and it ignited an all too familiar sensation in him. Something he hadn't felt in a very,  _very_  long time. His old friend Fear. Blood and spit dripped from his open mouth.

_Plip. Plip. Plip._

His one good eye trying desperately to...well he wasn't quite sure. It darted around frantically growing more sporadic with his breathing. He couldn't find Frieza, couldn't hear him, couldn't see him, couldn't move. A whisper snaked through the dark.

"Oh, Vegeta don't be afraid."

_Plip. Plip. Plip._

_Plip._

_Plip._

_Plip._

_Plip. Plip. Plip._

* * *

 

Vegeta was so cold and so very hungry. The hunger had began to twist and gnaw at his joints and his bones like a rabid dog inside of him. The small boy stood shivering in a cold sweat in the magnificent marble foyer. Waiting. He had been waiting for what felt like hours. Finally he heard something  _click, click, click_ down the hallway. From the darkness emerged a familiar figure. Small and slender and paler than Death himself. Frieza. His very presence sent frost crackling through Vegeta's veins. He approached the small boy, placing his hand on his bony shoulder.

"I've received the report of your mission from Zarbon."

Silence. Vegeta held his breath. Frieza was enjoying this.

"I'm pleased with you, little prince."

Vegeta felt himself relax, but not all the way. Never  _all_  the way.

Frieza leaned in close and whispered in his ear, holding tight to his shoulder "Come, I have something for you."

Something sat deep in the pit of his stomach and echoed up through his spine. With every timid step he took down the hallway it screamed for him to run. Run as fast as he could.  _Run_.

But he didn't run, he followed Frieza slowly inside the room. He felt something sour twist in his gut. He swallowed hard, trying to push it back down. The air was frigid and stale. There were no windows.  _Why were there no windows?_  He fought the lump rising in his throat. Tugging at his shirt, he wrapped his thin, bruised arms tightly around his chest. It was so dark. He tried to blink the darkness away but he couldn't, it was so thick.

He was pulled from his mind by the sound of the door clicking shut smoothly behind him. He spun around, his heart threatening to beat it's way furiously out of his chest. He couldn't see anything. He turned in circles, moving aimlessly around the room. Then suddenly, he felt warmth behind him. Warm breath on his neck.

"Don't be afraid."

His knees threatened to give out. He bit down on his quivering lip. Cold hands clamped down on his shoulders, like forceps, he felt them slide down his arms. Chills ran down his spine as the voice whispered in his ear.

" _Your clothes, remove them."_

He couldn't speak. He wanted to fight, to scream, to run but couldn't find the strength. All he could do was shake his head meekly. He was greeted by silence. He didn't dare move, terrified of what would happened next.

He felt his shirt pull viciously behind his neck and forward, pulling his shirt off of him. His legs fold over themselves and he fell backward. The center of his back slammed into something hard, cold, and sharp. It hurt so bad he couldn't breathe for several seconds. Those seconds felt like a lifetime. _Get up. Get up. GET UP._ He scrambled to get to his feet, but only made it to his hands and knees.

It was still too dark to see, too quiet to hear. It was freezing in the room, he was shirtless on his hands and knees. He started to scoot along the ground trying to find something that would indicate where he was. Help him escape. Suddenly he was jerked off the ground by the back of his hair. He threw his arms back and clawed violently at the hands. His legs kicked spastically, trying to move away.  _Get away. GET AWAY._ He tried but he just  _couldn't_. He wasn't  _strong_ enough.

Vegeta was shoved forward mercilessly, hitting the ground face first, colliding with the frozen stone floor his hands behind him. He threw his frail arms in front of him and began to crawl as fast as he could. He felt a hand clasp his ankle tight. He clawed at the smooth floors as he was dragged back viciously. A hand wrapped around the back of his head pressing him further into the ground, threatening to crush his skull. He felt the other cold hand rip the pants violently from his waist.

"You  _like_  that don't you?" The voice whispered smoothly. "I can  _tell._  Just  _feel this..._  It feels  _good, doesn't it?_ " The voice moaned and laughed, "Your body betrays you, little prince." He felt a cold hand reach out and wipe the tears from his face then slither down his body and around his front. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip until he tasted blood.

"I told you I'd always take care you, didn't I?" He let his tears drip down his face  _plip, plip, plip_  against the marble as his body jerked forward violently again and again and again.

_Plip. Plip. Plip._

* * *

 

Vegeta had found himself once again face to face with the cold, blood-soaked concrete of the VIP Suite. He couldn't move, couldn't escape. Just like so many times, so many years ago. Fear trickled up and down his spine like frost dancing upon glass.

_Control your breathing. Get ahold of yourself._

Frieza had brought in someone else to the room. No need to get his hands dirty...yet. A short, thick figure with dark skin dropped a heavy duffle bag inside the door.

"Vegeta, you remember Dodoria, don't you? I believe she has come to play with you during your stay here in the VIP Suite. She's here to help us convince your little friends to help me."

_His friends?_

_Convince his friends._

_What?_

Dodoria sat, straddling him around his waist and began to rain blow after blow to his ribs and spine. Air escaped his lungs, soft moans caught in his throat. He didn't struggle, didn't scream, didn't cry. He just laid there on the floor, face down his body lurching everytime she landed another hit.

* * *

 

"Why isn't he moving?" Bulma was hysterical. She was so close to the screen that Krillin had to gently tug on her shoulder so that everyone else could see. Piccolo and Goku sat on the couch behind her, concern knit tightly on both their faces.

"He's just laying there. He's just  _letting_ it happen." She was on her knees, holding fistfuls of her shirt, sobbing. She felt as though she would collapse under the weight, folding in on herself like a black hole.

A voice cut through the stale silence of the room, a voice she did not expect to hear. "It's different when you're on the other side of the chair Lil' Blue." she turned around. Piccolo was standing now, his arms squeezed tightly across his chest. His expression was stoic but she could see a sense of empathy she had never seen in him. He hadn't taken his eyes off the screen.

Krillin spoke hesitantly, as though he weren't sure whether or not it was the right time or not. "Here is what I don't understand. What could someone like Frieza possibly want from you? I mean, you're rich, yeah...but Frieza has all of the dirty money he can get his hands on. It doesn't make any sense. What could you possibly give him?"

* * *

 

Vegeta breathed in his reality again. He tried to ground himself but his good eye was smashed into the concrete and his swollen eye refused to open. But he could smell. He smelled blood. Blood and bleach….and  _way_  too much Armani Code. He recognized those smells. They were very familiar. The smells of work (Except the Armani. That was definitely Dodoria). It was also the smell of the interrogation room that the Ice Men had so affectionately deemed "The VIP Suite". It was where all of the very important "clients" were taken. He didn't mind The VIP Suite so much, though he preferred working on his own terms and in his own space.

But this time, he was on the wrong side of the chair. He  _definitely_  minded that.

He felt a thick wet crunch as Dodoria's fist collided with the back of his ribs again. His body spasmed uncontrollably. She managed to crack two ribs at once.  _Impressive...for Dodoria._ He would've quipped back at her had he been able to speak.

"You know I'm bored with this." she whined. "How about we try something new?" He felt her tug off his Converse and socks.

_Great. Just freakin' great._

"You know, If I'm being honest with you I've never tried this before but I would think it would really hurt so I need you to let me know how effective it is. Whether I should use this in the future or not, you know? You gonna be like my first customer."

He tried to roll his good eye. It didn't work. She wouldn't have seen it anyways.

"Shit Geets you got some ugly ass feet. What you walkin' on hot rocks an' shit?" She wasn't wrong. His feet were covered in scars, just like the rest of them. He sputtered a pathetic whimper, attempting to speak.

"Hate to break it to you D-Dodoria...but you wouldn't be the first...You see, I'm not a virgin."

This made her evenangier, she did not like being mocked. She thought she had broken him. Never. He'd die before he'd give in to them. He pressed his face into the cool ground and took a breath. He thought of Bulma and herhoney smile and then the pain took him.

* * *

 

They had begged her to pull the battery from the computer and more than once someone had tried to convince her to sleep. To reason with her. But sleep would not come to Bulma that night. She wouldn't let it. She sat with her knees to her chest on the living room floor. Staring emptily at the screen.

"I always knew you'd be the one to betray us. That doesn't surprise me at all. You were always a self righteous bastard. But what I can't figure out is why your friends have let it go on like this." Dodoria mused as she drove the fine blade under the nail bed and twisted it upwards.

Vegeta caught his screams in his throat, turning them into hoarse guttural cries that sounded almost like laughter. He sputtered.

_It was definitely effective. If he lived Vegeta was gonna use this one for sure._

"I mean, not even Raditz would've let it go on like this." she winced in false sympathy shaking her head. "Frieza honestly didn't think it'd take us this long. I can't imagine how you must feel."

* * *

 

Bulma had never felt as helpless in her entire life. Even when she had found him courting Death on her doorstep she had been there  _with him_. The room boiled over into a hiss of heated arguments like a lot of water overboiling on the stove.

_What did he want? What could he possibly want? How was she supposed to stop this?_

She had lost all control and Frieza was making it abundantly clear who had it. Amongst the sea of bickering and the video feed that would not end, she found herself reaching for the third box. "The Future". Maybe, just maybe the answer was in here.

She picked up the knife from where it gently rested on the carpet. Slowly she picked up the small box and sat in front of the computer. Her eyes began to sting with tears again. She couldn't help it. She didn't fight it this time. She let herself collapse into heavy sobs that lifted her body up and down like ocean waves.

Inside the box there was another box. The very box she had left on his doorstep on Christmas Eve. It had been restored perfectly, almost as though time had not touched it at all. The blue wrapping paper with the crude drawings of grumpy faces on it. The silver and blue ribbons. All of it was exactly how she had left it on his doorstep. A prickly wave of nausea rose inside of her.

The silence was suffocating and Goku was the first to break it.

"Bulma. What is that?"

"It's...I don't...it's the Christmas present I gave Vegeta. But I don't. I don't understand. He opened it I know he did."

* * *

 

"Dodoria, sit him upright and leave us." and like a good dog she did. She stopped immediately and pulled Vegeta up into child's pose, and left without another word. The immediate fire in Vegeta's feet subsided and was quickly replaced by excruciating pain, more refined and detailed. Frieza stood over him now.

"Do you remember this?" he held up the weathered old copy of the book. Vegeta could barely see but he didn't need to. He knew what it was.  _Le Petit Prince._

It was the story of a lonely little prince on a lonely little planet.

Of course he remembered. How could he forget. The story that haunted him. Frieza had read it to him as a child. When he was here in The VIP Suite. Here in the chair. He would taunt him, tease him, act like he was teaching him some great moral lesson, guiding him like a father would. He would call him "little prince". He derived some sick satisfaction from using the same pet name his mother had called him by all those years ago...before she died. It shouldn't have bothered him. Shouldn't have.

He barely remembered her. He couldn't even remember what she looked like. She had long since faded into obscurity. Every time he tried to recall her face, her laugh, or her voice, he couldn't. The image of her had been gradually replaced by Ripley from  _Alien_  over the years. It was the only movie he'd ever seen as a child. Nappa owned a VHS of it and when Vegeta would be plagued with sleeplessness or wake from nightmares Nappa would sleepily pop the VHS in the player before stumbling back to bed.

He thought of her now, tried to remember her instead of where he was. Instead of what was. All he could see was Ripley gazing dreamily out of the shuttle at the stars holding gently to the orange tabby in her lap. She had survived. Just like he would.

He heard the familiar  _click, click, click_  of Frieza's shoes. He smirked. He knew it would come to this. He wasn't ready but he was as close as he'd ever be.

Frieza trailed a cold, clammy hands down Vegeta's back, pushing his weak body almost to the ground.

"So, Bulma, is it?" Frieza said coolly as he pulled on a pair of finely made leather gloves. It was as though an electric shock jolted through his brain, frying the circuitry.

_No….No, no, no._

Just when he thought he had known what was going to happen Frieza had surprised him again. Vegeta wanted to scream, he wanted to wrap his hands around Frieza's throat and watch the life slip away from his eyes. He wanted to cry. Butinstead he sat there, motionless on the floor.

* * *

 

Bulma's heart stopped. So  _this_  is Frieza. He had finally stepped into the light. Though he was small and sickly, there was something about him that was terrifying and disgusting. He had said her name. He knew who she was. He was using her to get to Vegeta. Everyone in the room was silent now, not even the ancient walls dared to creak.

"I wonder what's taking her so long to open her final package." Frieza mused as he flexed his hands, listening to the squeeze of the fine leather as it tightened over his fingers.

Vegeta's head jerked up violently. His one working eye frantically searching around the room. He wasn't sure what he was searching for but he hoped he would know when he found it.

His eye darted around in the darkness but he could see nothing. It was possible that Frieza was playing him. Frieza rather enjoyed games. But Vegeta could not risk it. He couldn't bear the thought of her seeing him like this. Would she see this? Frieza no doubt knew about her by now. Would Frieza kill him first and then show her to get what he wanted? What did he want? There was no way to know.

It finally sunk in, after all these days. He had been so  _stupid_. He had underestimated Frieza again.

Frieza knew he'd never get anything out of Vegeta, he was a steel trap, Frieza had built him that way and prided himself on Vegeta being the best. He was torturing him to get to  _her. But why?_

Frieza had played him well, always one step ahead of him.

Vegeta spoke too fast choking and sputtering pathetically. Frieza giggled and waited. He was enjoying himself, far too much to stop it. Veget spoke blindly to the darkness, hoping to  _God and the fucking Universe_  she could hear him.

"Blue, listen to me. If you're out there. If you're watching or hearing this. Forget it. Fuck it all. Just turn it off. Turn it off right  _now_." his voice grew more desperate, breaking as he pleaded with the empty darkness.

Bulma wanted to, she wanted to do it for him. But she couldn't. She just couldn't abandon him like that.

"Why don't you open your last package, Bulma?" Frieza mused as he paced slowly behind Vegeta. His darkened silhouette barely visible on the tape.

"Don't open it Blue. Just throw the damn thing away and turn off the feed."

There was a desperation in his voice that she had never heard before, it sat in the pit of her stomach and crawled up her spine, suckling on her thoughts.

_Something is coming. He knows what it is and he is afraid I'll see it, know it._

Her hands shook uncontrollably as she gently peeled the wrapping paper off the box. She had to know what was in here. Had to know how to play the game if she was going win, to beat this sick bastard  _Frieza_  and get her Vegeta back..

Inside the box was her vibrant, floral scarf. It was carefully folded, still stiff and crusty with old blood. She had thrown it away the day after Vegeta had been shot. She pulled it out of the small box, letting it unfold, as it rolled open something small dropped to the floor with a quiet, thick  _thunk_.

It was a finger.

She recognized the callous knuckles and the faded blue tattoo that she had first noticed in the South Side café all that time ago. It was Vegeta's finger.

The world around Bulma continued to move but all she heard was the thick pounding of her own heart in her ears as it grew faster and louder. The sound of his voice calling her name brought her back to the present, back to the scratchy carpet and the bloodstained couch, back to the finger.

"Bulma. Bulma, please. Turn it off." He was begging now, his voice betraying that he was finally beginning to break. If he was right about her, she wouldn't listen to him but he had to try anyway. Frieza smiled as he stood behind him and grabbed the fresh ropes that bound Vegeta's hands, jerking them upwards. He fell on his face again. This was becoming a habit he was going to have to break.

Frieza giggled as he kicked Vegeta's knees out from under him. He was face down on the floor again, his arms tied behind him.

Frieza mused at the irony. He had forged Vegeta so perfectly that not even his best men could break him. Now all it took was a harmless, pretty face and Vegeta was falling apart.

"Please, B-Bulma …" She could barely hear Vegeta's voice muffled by the porous, rough concrete.

Everything in her begged her to ignore to him, she wanted to. But she couldn't. Bulma slowly lifted the computer pulling the backplate off and snapped the large, hot battery out of the back.

The footage fritzed out just in time for her to see the desperate look in his eye turn to emptiness as Frieza stood over him, reaching for his jeans.

* * *

 

Vegeta heard Frieza's voice before he saw anything, before he smelled anything, before he felt it, or remembered where he was. It was just Frieza and the deep, dark sea Vegeta floated upon.

"Well, well…..I'm surprised Vegeta. You should be proud of yourself. It takes a lot to surprise me." He whispered sensually in Vegeta's ear and he thought he might be sick. Something rose in the back of his mind and he swallowed it like bile, violently forcing it back down.

He was back in the chair now, his pants back about his waist precariously and the ropes around his wrists. His working eye tried to follow Frieza as he paced around him. He wore a finely tailored lilac suit. Maybe a day had passed. Maybe he wanted Vegeta to think so. Didn't much matter.

"Of all of my men, in all of the world… you were the  _last_ one I expected to fall for a honeypot." He pulled a small photograph out of his jacket pocket and set it on Vegeta's knee so he wouldn't need to lift his head to see it, but mostly so he wouldn't be able to look away.  _No. Not her. Not Blue. Not BULMA._

"I don't entirely blame you though, they must have caught wind of you when you got sloppy and sent one of their best agents to grab your interest. Why do you think they've left you here? This could've ended  _days_  ago. It pains me that it has gone on so long, little prince, it truly does." He waited for Vegeta to take the bait. But Vegeta just sat there his body swaying gently in the cold, damp air.

Frieza didn't appreciate that. Not at all.

"She never told you her full name did she?"

Nothing.

"See, I know you don't have one, but most people have family names. Yours died with your family, Vegeta, and has since been forgotten. Pity, really. Had things been different you may have been someone."

Vegeta's head dropped and jerked up again as though he may have lost consciousness for a moment. Frieza placed a hand on the back of his neck. He had been waiting for this moment. Nothing would rob him of the satisfaction.

"Bulma Briefs. Genius, beauty, and sole heiress to the Capsule Corporation."

_Capsule. Capsule? Capsule Corporation._

The only thing that threatened Frieza's hold here. But it had to be more than that. Why her? It was all starting to make sense now. It was too convenient for her to have fallen in love with him, especially considering who he was.

"Do you really think where you live is an accident, Vegeta? Nothing in your life is accidental. I have planned for every. Contingency."

Humiliation, shame, and anger rolled over him like waves. Relentlessly beating against him. He was entirely overrun. Exhausted. Broken. Frieza slid an old photograph onto Vegeta's knee, so he couldn't look away, couldn't forget.

He thought...he had  _hoped_...but like a flickering candle it blew out in a wisp of smoke and the darkness,  _his_  darkness, once again consumed him.

His voice was barely audible, it was cracking to pieces and crumbling to dust along with the rest of him. The spaces between the cracks, that left him open and empty filled with something hot and intimate and familiar. Hatred. If he hadn't let his guard down he never would've given Frieza the satisfaction of hearing him quote that damned book from memory but the familiar old words slipped from his lips before he could stop them.

"J'aurais dû ne pas l'écouter, me confia-t-il un jour, il ne faut jamais écouter les fleurs. Il faut les regarder et les respirer."

Frieza was positively beaming. He triumphantly echoed back the translation to him. His voice practically dripping with satisfaction and pride.

" _"I should never have listened to her," he confided to me one day, "One should never listen to the flowers. One should simply look at them and breathe their fragrance.""_ A grin split Frieza's face in two, white teeth flashing through the darkness. He placed a dainty, pale hand on Vegeta's shoulder.

"Yes. So very, very true. We all make mistakes, my little prince.'Vous êtes belles, mais vous êtes vides... On ne peut pas mourir pour vous.' No need to die for something so pointless." Frieza's breath sent chills down Vegeta's spine as he leaned in close enough to touch his clammy lips to Vegeta's ear.

" _You're beautiful, but you're empty...no one could die for you."_ He ran his hand over Vegeta's back, trailing his fingers along the contours of his muscles. Vegeta tensed instinctually. He thought he was going to be sick. Frieza untied him, letting the ropes slip from his swollen, raw wrists to the floor below. Vegeta felt the familiar weight of his gun in his right hand.

"I trust you know what to do."

"Of course I do."

* * *

* * *

Sorry for the late chapter, had some emergencies to deal with late last night.

As always, the greatest of thanks to my valiant army of copy editors Hanko, Cindermane and dgschneider for tolerating my flurry of artistic writing and making it presentable! Especially Hanko for the late night write sesh.

And praises ever be to Her Holiness, Stupidoomdoodles and the lovely LadyVegeets for inspiring this fic and really for getting me writing for the first time.

Comments are welcome, say hello! I don't bite!


	9. The Dead Man's Boots

**THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW**

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

* * *

 

**CHAPTER NINE: THE DEAD MAN'S BOOTS**

* * *

 

**Content Warning:**  murder and graphic depictions of violence, mention of sexual assault

* * *

 

JANUARY 15th

Vegeta stood from the chair and immediately collapsed. No further instructions were necessary. No mission. Frieza had given him everything he needed. Vegeta had already been set on the path, all Frieza had to do was wait.

Nappa had been a complete wreck for weeks now, since he received his last text from Vegeta.

_Blue falcon._

Vegeta knew. He knew what Nappa had done, or rather  _tried_  to do and he was going to come for him. But Vegeta was smart and patient. It could be years from now, or just a few hours. Nappa couldn't live like that.

Nappa had been summoned to collect Vegeta, or what was left of him. He hadn't seen or heard anything from Vegeta, and it was making him even worse. Every creak or rustle made him jump. He was antsy. When Frieza sent for him to collect Vegeta he could only hope he stayed unconscious long enough for Nappa to drop him off and leave. He didn't feel like dying tonight. But maybe he wouldn't have to. Maybe he could just-He adjusted the rear view mirror to look at the bloody mess in the backseat. Vegeta looked less like a human and more like a crumpled piece of paper, covered in vibrant whites, reds, and purples.

Something twanged in Nappa's dusty heart. He remembered this. This scene was all too familiar. Vegeta would receive his punishment for whatever it was: insubordination, unsatisfactory results, or purely for Frieza's pleasure. Sometimes it would be weeks before he'd see the little man again. Then out of the blue he'd get a message to come and get him. He'd always be in a state like this, always expected to pick up and work immediately afterwards. The more it happened the less Vegeta spoke to Nappa… or to anyone, and the more violent he became. He actually seemed to  _enjoy_  his work. It was just a job to Nappa, and Raditz for that matter, but for Vegeta it was a source of pleasure.

How did they get to this place? How did this happen?

Nappa couldn't let it go on like this, but he couldn't stop Frieza. Nobody was that strong and Nappa certainly wasn't that stupid. He only had one choice if he wanted to live. He was going to have to kill Vegeta before he woke up. Finish what he started.

He needed to be smart about this. If Frieza found out he had killed his favorite pet he'd find himself in the VIP Suite. No. He needed to wipe his hands of the whole mess. That's when he had a brilliant idea.

He would take Vegeta out and make it look like he had shot himself. Couldn't take him home. Couldn't risk whatever precautions the crazy bastard may have set up in his place or any eyes that Frieza may have on Geets's place.

Vegeta was freakin' nuts too, he could have knives in the couch cushions or...bullets in the toaster or something.

_Okay. It's okay though. It's fine._

He just needed to do it. Do it before he pussied out. Just find a secluded place and go for it.

_How hard can it be?_

Not hard. He'd killed lots of people.  _All the freakin' time._

Shouldn't be hard, right?

_Right._

Just put his gun in his hand and pull the trigger, right?

_Right._

Yeah, no. This'll work.

_Yeah?_

* * *

 

"What's this all about? I was busy." Roshi said impatiently. But he wasn't busy. He was about to smoke a bowl and watch outdated women's fitness videos. That's what he meant when he said "busy." Krillin ignored him and addressed everyone in the room.

"Bulma is going to join everyone else here. It's not safe at her apartment. We have reason to believe that Frieza is after her personally."

"Well, it's not hard to see why." Roshi gave Bulma a seductive, creepy look. Again Krillin ignored him and kept talking.

"No one leaves without a Z with them, understood? We can't risk it. For all we know, they already know where we are."

The air in the room was stale, but Bulma didn't feel it. She felt nothing.

Roshi closed himself in his room and lit up until all anyone could hear was an endless stream of lecherous laughter and an extremely outdated women's jazzercise video echoing through the walls of his room. ChiChi handled stress by cooking and that's just what she did. She cooked more than enough for a traditional feast.

As the night settled down and Kame House became quiet. Bulma found herself spiralling into a tangled knot of anxiety and time she had an opportunity to stop and "relax" she found something else to occupy her time. She had to think of something that had nothing to do with Vegeta at all. So she sat about the code. The code that had plagued her for years now. Back to all those years ago when she discovered the first Dragon Ball and Goku along with it. Now she had all but one of them and she had over a lifetime's worth of genetic engineering in code. Everytime she felt like she was close to cracking it she hit a dead end.

There was something in the research though that gave her the feeling that all of those myths might just be true. Maybe Kami really had discovered the secret to immortality. There was really no way to know until she had all seven Dragon Balls. And her radar, though complete, didn't seem to work worth a damn.

So she brewed herself a cup of rooibos chai tea and settled in next to Gohan at the kitchen table. He was working quietly on calligraphy. He had changed so much, he wore basketball sneakers, dark jeans, and a shirt in the same style as Piccolo's. ChiChi begged him to change his new wardrobe now that he was back home but he would always wiggle his way back into the clothes Piccolo had given him. Inside he was the same sweet boy he had always been and this Piccolo guy was so fiercely protective of him. He could've been rid of Gohan weeks ago when he dropped him at Kame House but he had sworn to Goku to protect him and wouldn't leave until Goku return. After that, he found a reason to stick around. He would linger in the background like a bodyguard silent and stern. Gohan seemed to be the only one who could break through his tough exterior.

She set up her computer and held her breath. Would Vegeta be on it when she opened it up again? But it booted as normal. Part of her sank. She had no idea where he was or if he was even alive.

"Bulma?" a quiet voice stepped through the cloud of her thoughts. She looked up and saw Gohan watching her. His hands were folded gently on the table in front of him.

She smiled at him. "Yes Gohan?"

"Mama said the man I met at the gym was your friend."

_The gym?_

Gohan twisted his tiny fingers together and continued tentatively. "Mama said he's in trouble. Is he going to be alright?"

Her heart twisted. What a sweet boy.

"I… I just don't know Gohan." She meant to sound confident and reassuring but she was none of those things. She gripped her teacup tightly.

Piccolo had been brooding against the dishwasher, he stepped forward behind Gohan and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Hey. Kid. Join me outside?"

Gohan nodded and stood, pushing his chair in and politely excusing himself and following Piccolo out to the backyard as Piccolo tapped a cigarette out of its place, looked at it, tossed it back on the counter, and stepped out into the cold night air.

Bulma turned back to the code on the computer and mindlessly buried herself in it. But she wasn't doing it for the thrill of discovery this time. She dove head first into the endless sea of numbers to keep herself from drowning.

* * *

 

Nappa drove around desperately searching for a place to dump Vegeta. He told himself he was calm but he was absolutely panicked. He finally found an alleyway off the back of a neighborhood down in Southside. Pulling Vegeta's crumpled body from the backseat of his car, leaving a streak of red blood on the black leather.  _Yeesh._ He set him down against the brick wall of the building and adjusted himself.  _Breathe. This is easy. Just grab his hand, wrap the gun around it and pull the damn trigger._  But once he had wrapped Vegeta's hand in the gun he found himself wavering.

He hesitated for just one second. And in that second Vegeta's eye shot open and his arm twisted around, catching Nappa in the throat with the stock of the gun. Nappa stumbled backward sputtering. Vegeta wasted no time and swept Nappa's legs out from underneath him. The larger man slid on the ice and collided with the unforgiving street with a hard thud.

Vegeta slid his arm down the side of Nappa's leg to his large bowie knife. Nappa had kept it in the same place for twenty fucking years. He was so damn predictable. Vegeta stood over him. Nappa was suddenly full of pure, unadulterated terror. He knew what was coming. Vegeta was going to kill him.

"Please...Vegeta…"

"Shut the hell up." Vegeta hissed, through his swollen jaw. "You tried to kill me.  _Twice._ "

"I was trying to protect you. I followed you this far for your father's sake. I have covered your crazy ass more than-"

He stopped, overwhelmed by the rush of ice that filled his veins and the fire in his gut.

He had gotten too comfortable with Vegeta and let himself forgot just how deadly he was. Nappa hadn't even seen him move but Vegeta had sliced him sideways from one side of his ribcage to the other and down, spilling his insides onto the slush and snow.

"You...you..son of a bitch….." Nappa muttered, eyes wide.

It was poetic really, but probably lost on Nappa. He had spilled his guts to Frieza and Vegeta had paid the price. Now Nappa would pay in turn.

Vegeta's raw, bloody feet burned in the snow. He cocked his head to the side, blankly, and ripped the boots from Nappa's feet one at a time. They were much too large for him, but if they kept his toes from freezing off then it didn't much matter. He slid his feet carefully into the warm, sweaty shoes and stood again, looking down at Nappa. He wiped the knife on the dead man's shirt and placed his gun carefully in his jeans.

"Thanks for the boots." Vegeta said callously as he stepped over Nappa's convulsing body and the guts that spilled from his torso onto the frozen concrete, steaming in the snowy night air.

Vegeta limped down the street, and into the darkness, never looking back.

* * *

 

Bulma retreated to the guest room and immersed herself in the strings of numbers, but her mind wasn't on Dr. Kami's research, it wasn't in the room. It wandered helplessly through the storms, calling out his name and begging for him to come home, come back to her.

She slammed her fist on her laptop keyboard, letting out a wail that had been trapped in the back of her chest clinging to her spine. She let herself dissolve, let herself weep. He was probably dead. Because of her, and she had no idea wh-she looked up at the strands of code that had begun to run across the screen rapidly. She had done something. Something had inverted half the numerics she had collected.

_Oh my god._

It was all starting to make sense. She had somehow completed the first half of the sequences, and it was  _real._

At least in theory it was real. The Dragon Balls… the Dragon Balls. How could she have been so stupid? That must be what Frieza's after.

He wanted the Dragon Balls. As far as she was concerned, he could have them as long as she could get Vegeta back.

Her mind was running too fast for her, she was tripping over her own thoughts unable to finish them. Complete them.

She had done it. She cracked the code.

* * *

 

With every clumsy, heavy step his body threatened to come undone. He was too tired to walk, too tired to think, too tired to fight. The adrenaline had long since worn off. The only thing that provided relief to his pained body was blustering winds that slapped and stung his raw skin.

He wouldn't make it home, there was no way. The only other place he could think of going was the address she had written inside the stupid Christmas card. All he could do was keep walking and hope to God she was there.

It could be a trap, it probably was a trap.

Didn't matter now, anyways. He ran his fingers round and round the sphere in his pocket. It was just like the others, the ones she had. It was warm to the touch. Disgust trickled down the edges of his mind. Disgust at himself, at her, at Frieza. If he was going to die he was going to take her with him and the last thing he would see before he died was the horror and pain on her face as the color drained from her rosy cheeks. The thought of killing her with his bare hands was the only thing that pulled him through when he could no longer feel his limbs. The sensation of her delicate throat crushed beneath his ugly, broken hands.

He should've known better. He should've known.

* * *

 

Bulma stormed out of the room she had been in and leaned against Krillin's desk. How was she supposed to focus with Roshi and his unwanted advances.

"Auuuugh. I can't do this Krillin. I cannot focus with that  _thing_  here." Bulma proclaimed in exasperation. Krillin blinked slowly, sipping his coffee and silently wishing that he had never been involved in any of this, as he so often did. They heard Roshi's voice calling from the other room.

"Hey beautifffuuuul."

"Ew. I wish I had a better place to hideout than this creepy old pervert's house. I am trying to change the world here and I can't when Roshi keeps grabbing my ass." She was angry and tired. Tired of Roshi's advances, tired of being away from home, tired of being bested by a bunch of stupid numbers. Now that she had finally begun to crack the code she wanted to bury herself in it, not chase away a lecherous old pervert.

Krillin felt both his eyes twitch. "Yeah, well we're the one's putting ourselves at risk here. So can you  _please_  stop complaining? We can't all be rich, you know?"

Gohan sat quietly at the other end of the kitchen table reading.

Roshi was still high out of his mind. He had spent a majority of the past hour kissing a poster of a swimsuit model that was still pinned to the wall. It was nearly midnight and he was still wearing his sunglasses.

"Ohggggiiiiiirrrrlllliiieeee."

* * *

 

There was a quiet knock at the door. Roshi answered to find a strange, half-naked man standing there.

"Bulma." he mumbled. He was only wearing pants and large, unlaced boots.

"Come again?" Roshi casually leaned on the other side of the doorframe. He took another hit and blew the smoke in Vegeta's face.

"Bulma. Need to...speak to...B-Bulma."

"Yeah. Sorry. Never heard of her."

"Please." the man growled. Lifting his hand to steady himself on the door frame, he brought a large knife into Roshi's view. Blood trickled down his arm and dripped down the contours of the blade.

"Oh. Right. That Bulma." With a swift  _whoosh_  Roshi closed the door in the stranger's face nearly knocking him into the snowbank and strode into the kitchen.

* * *

 

"Hey cutie!" Roshi yelled, slapping Bulma on the ass.

She whipped around, fire in her eyes. He was in the entryway of the kitchen now. His head sticking through a waterfall of wooden beads.

"What do  _you_  want?" she quipped.

"There's some angry bloke out here for you." He whispered loudly leaning in closer. "He's got a knife."

"What?"

_What the Hell was he playing at?_

"Looks like he's never had a happy day in his life." He took another hit.

_No. He couldn't mean-_

"Wait...you…." Her heart was fluttering like a butterfly.

_No. Stop that. Don't get your hopes up._

Bulma nearly plowed over Roshi. She threw the door open breathlessly, the blustering winds stinging her face. Her heart fluttered in her chest so quickly it was making her dizzy. Roshi laughed. "Oh so you  _do_  know each other."

There he was, what was left of him. He looked worse than he had when she found him leaning against her door, bleeding to death. He teetered back and forth in the wind, fighting hard to keep himself upright. His good eye slowly rolling about, searching but never finding.

It was him. It was  _really_  him.

Her knees nearly gave out. She threw her arms around him and he collapsed into them. She was so  _warm_. Vegeta heard her broken sobs as she tucked her warm face in the crook of his neck. Wait, was she crying? Knees buckling, he dropping the knife into the snow bank on the front steps with a soft crunch. He tried to stand on his own again but he just didn't have the strength anymore. His body shivered fiercely, he was practically frozen, his bare skin vibrant whites, reds, and pale blues. He leaned on her for support and she helped him up.

"Come on, let's get you inside."

* * *

 

Vegeta had had nowhere to go. He was in a haze, operating on instinct. His heart felt as though it had been twisted up again and again, threatening to dry out and disintegrate into empty dry strands, a husk of what it was. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to collapse into her arms and breathe her in or wrap his hands around her throat until the stars that glittered in her eyes, slowly fade to dust.

He simply did not have time left for feelings. He wasn't sure he had time left at all.

She helped him to the couch and tried to set him down as gently as possible.

She stood there in reverent silence looking over him. He was wearing a pair of large, untied boots and his jeans. Nothing else. His head leaned back over the edge of the couch, his breathing ragged. ChiChi immediately set about gathering supplies: conventional, traditional, and improvised. She hustled around the small house carrying armfuls. Everything from obscure herbs, to gauze pads, to old gym socks full of rice, and frozen bags of vegetables. No one said anything for a time until ChiChi broke the silence. With a worrisome look she zipped up the small first aid kit and sighed, placing a hand on her hip. "We are going to need more antiseptic."

* * *

 

Gohan sat cautiously on the other end of the couch clutching his book to his chest. He was more concerned with the man than his studies. He smelled strongly of metal and bleach. He stared at him intently. He couldn't be sure but he  _thought_  he was the same man from Uncle Ernie's.

He must have fought  _a lot_. Mr. Piccolo had fought his whole life and so had Baba but they didn't have nearly as many scars as the man did. Vegeta's eye opened and caught his gaze. Gohan hid his face under the book.

* * *

 

Krillin placed a hand gently on Bulma's shoulder "Hey can I talk to you for a moment?" She nodded and reluctantly tore herself away from Vegeta and followed Krillin into the kitchen.

She watched the couch from the open doorway through the veil of wooden beads that cascaded through the entrance. Vegeta's head lolled lazily to the side. He stared at Gohan through one eye and Gohan stared fearfully back at him from behind his book.

"Look Bulma I need to talk to you about your friend here."

The words Krillin had chosen worried her. She suddenly felt very defensive.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Look I just had the boys down at the station do a little check on him. His criminal record is as long as my arm. He doesn't have a family, doesn't have a formal education, doesn't even have a last name. I'm just not sure he's someone we can trust."

She hadn't taken her eyes off him, watching the way his eye idly studied Gohan. He was probably the first child Vegeta had interacted with in years. Gohan looked politely and respectfully terrified. She couldn't help but smile.

"Well I do. I'm sure he hates Frieza as much as we do," she stopped for a moment, swallowing the lump in her throat, "No. More. Given the occasion, he'll strike back." She thought back to the stories he told her. To the pain and hatred hidden in his dark eyes.

"Bulma." Krillin sighed. "It's not just that, Bulma." he sighed "Look, we just got you here, somewhere that is going to be relatively safe. It would be foolish to invite one of Frieza's men in. I should really be taking him into custody, he can get treatment at the hospital an- "

"Krillin… he can't go to a hospital. You  _know_  that. They'll find him. They'll kill him. I can't do that to him. I won't." she wanted to argue with Krillin further but really she just wanted to be with Vegeta right now. He was hurt and he needed help.

"Damn it Bulma."

* * *

 

Someone had helped him into the spare room where Bulma had been staying. He vaguely remembered that. Bulma must have, to some degree, understood his need for privacy. She had given him something for the pain. It didn't take it away but it dulled it, rounding the sharp edges. She said nothing as she silently and thoughtfully cleaned his wounds. Her gentle touch muddied the waters of his mind, driving a twisting pain through his heart and up into his brain.

His pride had been splintered into shrapnel that lodged deep within his bruises and open wounds. He wouldn't be made a spectacle, not tonight. He didn't want stares, didn't want pity.

What  _did_  he want? He simply did not know.

The sun had long since set, the foggy window bright with snow that floated through the deep blue of night. He watched the snow for a time before closing his eye and relaxing into the pillow he clenched to his chest.

Sleep had pulled Vegeta under its dark waters despite his best efforts to stay afloat. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he slept last. It didn't matter now though. He floated dreamlessly somewhere beneath the surface, unaware of which way was up.

A thoughtful touch on his shoulder woke him. His arms and legs shot upright to cover his chest and face followed by sharp pain and nausea. He saw her silhouette, lit by the streetlight from outside, the white light catching on the feathering blue that danced around her face, her hands clasped together at her chest. Slowly he uncurled himself, clearing his throat. He opened his mouth to speak but it was dry and stuck to itself.

She looked at him with a look he had not seen before, one he didn't know how to decipher. Was it pity? Disgust? Sorrow?

"What?" his hoarse voice croaked.

Standing there in silence she took a thoughtful step towards him and stopped.

"Vegeta, I need to take a look at your chest and your hands now."

It wasn't until that moment that he became aware of the pulling, pressing feeling of medical tape and bandages on his back and neck. He breathed in the smell of rubbing alcohol and plastic.

Finally he met her gaze and nodded gingerly.

Vegeta felt two things: excruciating pain, and numbness. The pain was to be expected, but the numbness? It was a kind that gently vibrated through his muscles after the pain of electrical shock left him feeling heavy and hollow. He would have scoffed at it, but he was too numb to care. Slowly and deliberately he released the pillow. It pulled at his skin where the wounds had begun to clot and stick to the fabric of the pillowcase.

Bulma stepped in, nearly matching his solemn pace, she moved the pillow further in front of him under the window sill. Stacking it on another pillow she fluffed them with her hands.

Neither of them spoke as he achingly scooted along the blankets and sheets and leaned into the pillows. He let his head rest on the damp windowsill, tracing patterns in the stucco ceiling with his eye. He felt her join him on the bed and wiggle away from the edge. She reached out gently for his poorly bandaged hand.

"May I?"

_No. Don't touch me. Leave me alone._

He nodded ever so slightly, still staring at the ugly textures above him. In the midst of everything else he had forgotten all about his finger. He rather preferred it that way. He knew it was going to be an ugly sight opening the bandage. Soon after Frieza had order Zarbon remove the finger, he had used some sort of chemical to cauterize the wound. Couldn't have Vegeta bleeding out before he was done with his fun. The cauterization had been more painful than the loss of the finger, sizzling and fizzing as it was forced down in whatever solution Zarbon had used. He remembered the feeling of the bubbling that chewed on his raw flesh. They had wrapped it sloppily afterwards, leaving the solution dripping from his hand, it had been that way for days now.

Warily she unwrapped the matted bandages that encased his fist. Shivering at the pain, he kept his eye trained on the light dancing from outside on the stucco. Despite her careful touch, the bandages pulled at his skin, taking layers of blisters with them.

The sound of her trembling breath brought his eye back down. Bulma's shoulders swallowed her delicate neck, her legs folded beneath her. Eyes shut tight and her face tucked into her chest, she bit down on her lip. She was quivering.

* * *

 

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe._ She told herself over and over.

She had resolved that she would be strong for him. But she felt her compose crumbling into thousands of pieces. Slowly unwrapping his hand, her heart fell almost as fast as the tears.

She was not prepared for what she had found. It was so much worse than she imagined. His skin was covered in large, patchy, oozing burns, each a brilliant shade of red, yellow, and blackish blue. It looked awful and smelled even worse.

She felt the weight of his other hand resting on hers. Unfolding herself she met his stare. The slightest crooked smile played across his lips, but the fire in his eyes had been snuffed out. Only ashes remained. His haunting gaze was hypnotic, drawing her in. In that moment everything else seemed to fall away as she let his stare pull her closer. She had slowly released his hand and leaned in, the flowing fabric of her shirt dancing across his lap. They shared a breath as she pressed her forehead reverently to his. Breathing her in, he stiffened, eyebrows knit together. Her eyes flickered as she touched her lips to his.

Vegeta's heart twisted and wrung itself out, draining the blood from his face. Something inside his chest wriggled and squirmed, begging him to run, but he couldn't. It demanded he move, that he do  _anything_ , but he was transfixed.

Rosy lips pressed against his, while fingers traced tiny circles and lines across his cheek and neck. Her heartbeat fluttered in her trembling fingertips as they danced tenderly across his bare chest, tracing along the jagged scars, old and new, that stained his skin. Every touch warmed him and left an impression, like fingers etching swirling patterns in frost.

_Breathe_. He reminded himself. He wanted to let go, to collapse and melt into her. Wanted to soak her in like the sunshine and feel every inch of her body, but something stopped him. It held him captive, paralysed.

Her hips floated just above his, radiating warmth. The soft fabric of her blouse pressed against his bare chest as her hands slipped into the mess of his dark hair and around the back of his head, cradling him and softly pulling him closer.

She felt him flinch and immediately pulled her hands away.

"I'm sorry." she whispered, eyes darting across his face.

His throat tightened, threatened to suffocate him. All he could manage was a meager shake of the head.

He didn't want her to be sorry,  _he was sorry._

"Do you want me to stop?"

Swallowing hard, he pushed the lump of panic back down. It sat on his heart, causing it to squirm and spasm in his chest. With fluttering breath, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into him gingerly. Tilting her head gracefully Bulma traced the contours of his neck with her lips, slowing making her way up to his ear.

"I thought I'd lost you." honey dripping from her voice as she choked on the whisper. She ran her lips over his throat, kissing him tenderly.

His head fell back, a breathy gasp escaping his chest. He had never felt anything like it before. He was so overwhelmed by the sensation he hadn't felt her hands trace down his chest to the button of his jeans.

She continued to suckle his neck as her fingers undid the clasp. Her hand smoothly sliding inside.

He grasp her wrist tightly, squeezing it and turning it upwards. Agony twisted his face as he looked through her, small ragged breaths barely reaching his lungs.

He was caught somewhere in between there and here.

"Vegeta …"

The sound of her voice pulled him back from the darkness that clawed at him and dragged him back to the cold, marble floors.

Eyes fixed on his face, her dainty wrist trapped in his iron grasp. He dropped her wrist as though she were made of hot metal. He began to mutter an apology but she shushed him, once again leaning into him. Her warm breath dancing across his lips.

"Let me heal you."

And he did.

They slipped in and out of time together.

It was single purest thing Vegeta had ever experienced. It was delicate and it was fragile but it was stronger than Frieza's entire army.

In that moment West City itself simply ceased to be.In that moment, everything but them ceased to exist. They moved together, rocking like gentle ocean waves against the shore. Andin that moment, as their bodies shared the same space, moving as one, for the first time in his entire life Vegeta was truly free.

* * *

 

* * *

 

As always, the greatest of thanks to my valiant army of copy editors Hanko, Cindermane and dgschneider for tolerating my flurry of artistic writing and making it presentable! Especially Hanko for the late night write sesh.

And praises ever be to Her Holiness, Stupidoomdoodles and the lovely LadyVegeets for inspiring this fic and really for getting me writing for the first time.

Comments are welcome, say hello! I don't bite! I also want you all to know that I read all the comments left on the story and appreciate every one of them. I am sorry I haven't responded to all of you but I just want to give a huge thanks to everyone who has read and continues to read this for supporting me on this endeavor. It's been such a blast and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!


	10. The Warning

**THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW**

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN: THE WARNING**

* * *

Content Warning: extreme violence and language

* * *

JANUARY 16th

Vegeta hobbled through the snow, pulling the sweatshirt he had stolen from Roshi's closer to his skin. It was old and worn and did little to protect him from the unforgiving chill. He clung to the duffle bag, wrapping it around his front as he dragged his body through the flurries.

He regretted everything. He regretted leaving without saying goodbye one last time, he regretted taking her Dragon Balls and her research. He regretted that he had no plan.

He wasn't quite sure whether or not he regretted last night.

_Best not to think about that now._

Before she came along everything had been so clear... maybe. Maybe he hadn't been looking, but she danced into his life anyway and pulled up the thick layers of mud and muck from the riverbed as she went, clouding everything like mud stirred up in a pond. Vegeta stopped to press his throbbing head against a cold brick wall. The problem was he couldn't see through the muddy waters anymore. Had no idea which way was up.

His life had become infinitely more complicated and oh-so simple at the same time. She would simply wake to find him gone and discover he had taken all of her research and she would simply hate him. She would hate him like he wished that she would. He decided all of this would hurt far less if she did.

_But…_

_Probably best not to think about it now._

Vegeta simply couldn't walk anymore. He wasn't sure how long he had been walking, long enough for the sun to rise. He knew he needed to stop. Ducking inside an old building that had clearly been used the night before as a makeshift refuge from the cold.

Dropping the bag he tucked himself into a corner as far away from the broken windows and shattered glass as he could. Curling up, he let his head slump against the frozen drywall and slowly ran his bandaged hands back and forth over his arms. He felt  _numb._  He couldn't help but stare at the duffle bag, feeling sick to his stomach. It had been a long time since he had felt this way, entirely drenched in shame.

His hands were beginning to freeze, and the stiff ache pulled him out of the tar of his thoughts. He shoved them down between his thighs to warm them as best he could. As he lifted his legs something familiar poked him in the back. His gun. He was so incredibly sore, it was hard to reach behind him and pull it free from his jeans.

Turning it over and over in his hands he found his mind wandering again. This was becoming dangerous. He had proved himself right. He had betrayed her, the one person who had ever treated him like a person and he had stabbed her in the back. The bandages caught his eye as he thumbed the safety. He turned his hands around staring at the bandages. She had done it again, when his pathetic life had ripped him to shreds she had tenderly picked up the pieces and put him back together...and….so much more. His eye fell on the bag in front of him.  _This_  was how he repaid her for everything. He wasn't even sure why he had taken it. Frieza seemed to want it. She definitely cared about it, but what the hell was  _he_  going to do with it? He had no idea what she had really been working on or how far along in the research she was.

Frieza hadn't killed him yet and he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of breaking him now, after everything he'd been through, everything that had been taken from him.

He pulled the amber sphere from his jacket pocket. Frieza had been overconfident, as always. He had been fiddling with the trinket during their time in The VIP Suite. He had carelessly left it on the small metal tray just out of reach. Vegeta had managed to swipe it in the midst of their "conversations" though and Frieza had enjoyed himself far too much to notice. He would be furious when he found Vegeta had taken it. He would surely send someone after him, if he hadn't already.

Vegeta wasn't ready. He tossed the loose ball into the duffle bag with the rest of them. Seven balls. All of this for seven stupid fucking balls.

He was going to kill Frieza or die trying. Nothing else mattered now. Running his fingers over the chilled metal, he let them fall over the juts and corners of the gun. It felt heavier than he ever remembered it feeling.

The dusty sound of a boot sliding against the crumbled drywall broke his trance.

He whipped around, pushing himself up the wall for support.

_God. Everything hurts._

* * *

Goku swept the room carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible. Bulma had warned him not to spook Vegeta. If he was anything like Raditz, Goku didn't want to spook him. He wanted to get Bulma's stuff back and go back to Chichi and Gohan and possibly grab something to eat on the way.

He heard a gun click behind him.

_Oh, frickle frackle._

"I wouldn't move if I were you." a rough voice echoed through the stale, dusty room. But he didn't sound intimidating, he sounded tired...and sad? But still, Goku stood stiff and silent.

"Turn around slowly." the voice commanded, and he did.

He was surprised. He had gone to bed long before Vegeta had arrived the previous night. He was...smaller than Goku anticipated, and he looked like he had taken a real wallop already. But then again, he vaguely remembered Bulma saying something about that. What was it…

_Don't spook him? Be careful with him? Or...something about a freezer? He did look like someone had dropped a freezer on him. Wait. Stop. He's still talking. Focus._

"You're here for the Dragon Balls, aren't you? How did you find me?"

"Um. It's Vegeta, right?"

Nothing.

"We...have a way of tracking them," the small, broken man didn't move, his eyes narrowing.

"Please...can you lower the gun? I don't want a repeat of my brother's death."

Vegeta didn't look like he intended to lower the gun. In fact, he looked more hostile than he had when they first met moments before.

"Your brother?"

"Raditz." Goku spoke the name, but it still felt so foreign to him. "From what I understand, he used to work with you."

Vegeta couldn't help but sneer, as he smiled his bruised eye closed off entirely and pain prickled through his face.

"So you're the infamous Kakarrot, eh?" He stepped forward, cocking the gun. "You have no idea how fucking tired I got of hearing about you."

"Listen Vegeta, I came here to talk. You don't have to do this. We can team up. Give us back the Dragon Balls and we will get rid of Freezer together. Isn't that what you  _really_ want?"

Hatred and disgust boiled and bubbled thick inside of Vegeta's veins. What the hell did  _this clown_  know? He didn't even know his enemy's name. Vegeta found himself slowly and carefully circling the taller man like a predator. He stopped abruptly, rubbing his forehead with the stock of the gun. His head felt like it had been split in two. He let out a sigh.

"Y'know what?"

_No...? I don't?_

"I'm tired of being told what to do by assholes like you all the time. So if you or anyone else want these Dragon Balls." Vegeta lifted the gun, aiming for Goku's face. "You'll have to pry them from my cold, dead hands."

Goku widened his stance - he'd trained with a number of legendary martial artists, but his stance never varied from the one he learned from the Turtle Hermit.

Vegeta scoffed. This fool was obviously lacking in judgement, he was literally trying to fight with his fists against a gun. There'd be no way he could close the distance before Vegeta got off a shot.

"I'm giving you one last chance to disappear on your own before I  _make_  you disappear" Vegeta threatened, but Kakarrot didn't back down. In fact, Vegeta's words seemed to encourage him.

Goku shot forward. Vegeta was actually impressed at how light he was on his feet and how quickly he moved - most thugs wouldn't be able to train their aim on him the way he moved.

But Vegeta wasn't a common thug. His lips formed that one-sided smirk that anyone who'd ever been around him for more than 5 minutes would be familiar with. He pivoted down to one knee to steady his aim as he turned his sights on his assailant. Quick as Kakarrot was, there was no hope for him. Vegeta squeezed the trigger.

_Click._

_God Damnit! Of all the times for a jam, did it have to b-_

Vegeta flew several feet before landing on his back, blood dripping from his nose. He didn't even wait for the white flare that blinded his vision from the blow to subside before he rolled to the side and began to un-jam his gun.

"Agh-" Vegeta spat, pain exploding from his fingers. Kakarrot, fool though he seemed, knew how to harrow his foe. He had kicked the gun from Vegeta's hands. Vegeta fumbled backward, freeing his hands to defend himself. Every movement of every muscle reminding him of how much he  _hadn't_  recovered.

Interestingly, now that they were fighting hand to hand, Vegeta noticed some things right away. Kakarrot was fast and nimble, but his strikes lacked commitment. If the roles had been reversed, Vegeta would have focused entirely on his enemies vital points and wounds, while it almost seemed like Kakarrot was doing the opposite. Vegeta realized almost instantly he didn't need to guard his wounds as much as he thought, and that freed him up to be a little more offensive.

Vegeta almost too casually knocked aside several incoming blows targeting the muscles in his foe's arms. Kakarrot would feel that more and more as the fight went on. Once he had an opening, Vegeta darted in, turning, and neatly aligned himself behind the larger man. As Kakarrot turned for follow him, Vegeta buried his fist his gut. The combined inertia of Kakarrot's body turning into the surprisingly solid blow left him winded, and his entire core seemed to seize up.

_What kind of guy is this?!_ Goku thought.  _He's gotta be near collapsing and here he's starting to kick my butt!_  Goku barely managed to fend off the follow-up blow from the small frenzied man.

Vegeta was impressed by Kakarrot's fortitude - even Nappa would've collapsed instantly from a blow like that, and here this man had managed to continue defending himself. Vegeta watched his breathing - it was controlled and almost instantly became relaxed again after Vegeta's strike. His offense wasn't very vicious, but he knew how to defend himself. Vegeta was concentrating on all the subtle cues of his enemy's fighting - his breathing, the angle of his stance, where he kept his elbows when he attacked, how he kept his shoulders loose - that he completely missed Kakarrot's almost giddy grin.

Goku was having fun. When he had fought Raditz, there was an urgency - his son was in danger. While he knew the dragon balls were important to Bulma, it wasn't the same as before, and so he allowed himself to really enjoy this experience. Vegeta's style was…. Odd. If Goku had known the word he would have called it 'idiosyncratic', but it reminded him of Krav Maga and something else…. What was it….

Oh yeah! Goku remembered now, it was called  _Systema_. He had fought a Russian guy in a tournament awhile back that had studied that. It was certainly impressive. Vegeta's body kept completely relaxed - almost like a noodle (mmmm…. nooodles), or a garden hose right up until he either struck back or blocked a hit, then he almost reflexively tightened his body in a wave from the impact point, absorbing the blow.

"You really are somethin', y'know?" Kakarrot blurted out.

_What? Was he… engaging in SMALL TALK? While FIGHTING?_ That only made Vegeta more livid. Here he was, literally fighting for his life and his opponent wasn't even taking things seriously!

Vegeta grunted as he ducked a big over-hand blow from Kakarrot. He seemed to be getting better as time went on. He finally noticed Kakarrot's smile.

_Was he… Is he… TOYING WITH ME?_  Vegeta thought.

"Who are you!?" He spat, letting up for a moment as he took a step back. Hopefully Kakarrot would take the bait and allow Vegeta to catch his breath.

"Me…? I'm Goku!" The fool actually pointed at himself as he said it. Vegeta scoffed again.

"Now listen, Vegeta. I can tell you're having a hard time. So seriously, why don't you just come with us, and we'll figure out this Dragon-Ball-Freezer thing together, okay?"

"You mean… You're serious?" Vegeta said. "That's not just a ploy to get my guard down?"

"Of course not! Do I look like I'd lie to you?" He responded. He literally made puppy dog eyes as he said it.

What an idiot. Vegeta thought. "Al… Alright. They're over there." Vegeta pointed to the duffle bag at the base of a pillar, behind him. He'd done his best to keep himself in between them and Kakarrot.

"Awesome, thanks." Goku said, a smile as wide as his ears. "You won't regret it. Y'know, I'm actually kinda glad you were stubborn at first, it was great to fight y-"

Goku had been talking as he approached the duffle bag. Vegeta was dumbfounded that he had actually completely let his guard down, but he didn't miss the opportunity nonetheless. Without seeing it coming, Goku took the blows to the throat, face, and grown in quick succession and fell to his knees, sputtering. He looked up at Vegeta just in time to catch a glimpse of his boot connecting to the side of his face before blacking out.

* * *

Bulma could practically feel her bones clacking against each other as she ran down the frozen, slippery streets. She glanced down at the round device in her hand again and again. They were close. Gohan sprinted to catch up to her and Piccolo strode casually behind, easily keeping pace.

She was following to the location she knew Goku had gone to. But the Dragon Balls weren't there, at least not anymore. The faintest cough broke her stride, her feet nearly sliding out from underneath her. There in the alleyway Goku sat, cradling his arm close to his chest and cupping the underside of his ribs. He was a bloody mess.

"Baba." Gohan practically screamed as he slid on the slush and ice in the alleyway. Skidding to his father's side. "Baba, you're bleeding."

"Even disarmed, he was one...tough cookie...couldn't beat him." He looked up at Bulma, torment written on his face. "Bulma, I'm so sorry I couldn't get them from him. I don't...I don't think he can get very far though."

She looked back down at her radar as she watched the blinking lights move further and further away.

"Where are you tough guy?"" she whispered into the wind.

* * *

A hand shot out from the flurries of ice to steady itself on the frozen alley wall. It scuffed and slid, jutting over the rough edges of the bricks, leaving a vibrant trail of red painted in its place. Vegeta stumbled down the alleyway, directionless, blind. He clutched desperately at his gut where his wound had mercilessly reopened, gushing hot blood through his shirt and fingers.

"That...fucking clown. I'm not going to die... like this…" Steadying himself again, he forced his eyes to focus on the path ahead of him.

Vegeta would survive, like he always had. He had to. So caught in his own thoughts, he nearly tripped over a man curled up in the alleyway under a thin sheet of soggy cardboard. The man was huddled around a rusty oil drum full of paper, cardboard, and old discarded pieces of wood, it crackled and sputtered as the snow tried desperately to put it out. The smell of fire filled Vegeta's lungs with smoke that twisted around his mind, pulling him deep into the grave of his memory and sparking an ancient fire buried deep inside of him.

* * *

Large hands cupped the small boy's face nearly wrapping around the back of his head, gentle and warm. The man kneeled on the ground pressing his forehead to his son's.

"Vegeta, listen to me. Listen closely." he pulled away to meet the boy's wide, dark eyes. "I need to get your brother and…" the boy's gaze wandered to the flames licking down the hallway, shattering glass and cracking wood. Panic gripped his fluttering heart. "Loo-look at me, son. I need to find your mother and Tarble. Go. Get out and we will find you outside...look...look at me….go. GO." The boy reached up to touch his father's scratchy beard, running his soft palms up and down.

"P-P-Papa." he choked. He didn't want to go, he wanted to be held tight and carried through the flames. He wasn't sure he had it in him.

Heavy footfalls pounded down the blazing hallway behind his father.

"Vegeta, you need to run. RUN." With that he looked at his son one last time, setting his hand on the boy's wet cheek and spun him on his heels pushing him forcefully towards the charred hallway as he turned the other way towards the footsteps.

"You? How did  _you_ get in here?" Vegeta heard the ice in his father's voice freeze the flames around him.

The small boy gripped the hot windowsill at the end of the smoky hall, his skin sticking to the red hot metal as he pulled them away. He didn't feel it though, adrenaline pumped through his body as he scrambled through the open window and into the melting snowbank below. But he didn't stop, he couldn't. He ran. He ran and ran until he slid across the melting ice, his face colliding with the unforgiving cobblestones and skidding to a stop. He scurried back to his feet and sprinted as fast as he could, his legs felt like lead, collapsing underneath him as the flames licked the open sky. He slipped and slid, clambering to his feet as he watched the glowing husk burn.

Cries of anguish punctuated the deafening silence as the flames consumed everything. The fire filled his ears and vibrated through his bones. The pained moans and hot snaps of wood filled the air as the house began to collapse on itself.

The rolling waves of heat were suffocating. A voice misplaced through time cried out through the smoke. Her voice drifted through the air, nearly choked out by the thick billows of black smoke that snaked towards the frozen, starless sky. She was screaming for him.

"Vegeta….Vegeta….where are you?"

He wanted to scream. Wanted to run to her, but he was trapped, something inside of him had rooted his body to the cobblestone walkway, and no matter how he tried he could not move. His face hot from the heat rolling off the fire, but he could not look away. Tiny fists twisted handfuls of his shirt into circles as he pulled them tightly across his chest.

_No….no….no….Papa…..Mama…._

An unfamiliar voice slipped through the smoke and ash and down his spine.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk….what a  _shame_ …"

Frozen hands wrapped around his head from behind, sliding through his messy locks of damp hair and gently grasping his skull. He felt a soft lingering kiss on the top of his head.

"Do not dismay my little prince." the hand slid down the side of his throat to rest on his shoulder, cold lips pressed against his ear sending tremors through his body.

"The Cold family will be taking care of you from now on."

* * *

He stumbled forward catching himself on the wall once again, hand slipping on the blood that he left behind. His father, was that really his father? The fine, sharp features distorted by fear and anger. As quickly as he had appeared he began to fade. Try as he might he couldn't keep the image in his mind, like catching smoke in your hands.

"You alright, mate?" the man below him was now pressed as far as he could against the opposite wall, fear in his eyes. "You...uh...you don't look so good."

Vegeta heard nothing but the pounding of his own heart ringing in his ears.

"...I-I'm coming for you…Frieza..." Once again warmed and propelled forward by the hatred that burned him, he stumbled out of the alleyway and down the street.

"...and...I'm not going down without a fight."

* * *

"Bulma. You need to slow down." Krillin panted, resting his hands on his knees.

Bulma turned to snap at him but saw Piccolo's concerned look.

"Lil' Blue, we goin' in circles. Maybe you need to take a look at that... _thing_  again."

Her legs felt like noodles, she was pretty sure she was lost and she was disheartened. Vegeta was close, he had to be, she just knew it.

"Bulma we need to go back, maybe get the patrol car and…"

"No." she snapped. For a moment no one said anything, then she spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper. "No...he could be dead by then."

They nodded solemnly and continued on through the storm.

"Let's hope we find him soon." Krillin muttered into his frozen hands.

* * *

Vegeta slipped into the alley and crouched behind a dumpster. Unsure where he was going or how long it would take him to get there, he only knew he couldn't stay here, not for long. But he had to stop, if only for a brief moment.

Eyes closed, face buried in his sweatshirt he wrapped his arms around the duffle bag and tried to control his breathing. He felt slippery, hot blood pulsing from his side.

_Shit._

"Hey Geeters, whatcha doin'?" a coarse, female voice cut through the snow.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Dodoria._

"Fuck off bitch." he said, eyes still closed.

"Mmm, can't do that Geets. See, you got something the boss wants and I've been ordered to retrieve it."

He had plans for Dodoria. Payment for what she had done to him in the VIP Suite, but she was far stronger than him now.

_Doesn't much matter now. Fuck it._

With a swift motion he pushed himself up, dropping the duffle bag in the snow.

"You always were an insufferable cunt." Vegeta spat. He reached as inconspicuously as he could behind him but failed to find the cold metal grip of his gun.  _Shit!_  He had forgotten to pick it up after knocking that fool Kakarrot out.  _Hmph. Maybe I'm the fool._  He thought to himself.

"What's the matter, Geets. Looking for this?" Dodoria held up his gun. "Wouldn't do you much good. Poor thing's jammed." She smiled. Vegeta wondered if she knew how ugly she was.

"Don't worry." The words oozed out of Dodoria's disgusting mouth. "It'll be more fun this way after all."

She tossed the gun aside, drew her own pistol, and tossed it aside too. "I've wanted this for a long time…"

"Not as much as I have" Vegeta retorted. "Let's see if I can make you any uglier…"

* * *

Bulma was practically on top of the beeping lights. Vegeta was close...or at least the Dragon Balls were. She whipped her head around her body following as she spun in circles in the slush-covered street. Searching frantically, she had been running so long she lost all feeling in her legs. Fluttering breaths threatened to give way to tears. Then she heard it.

_Thuck._

_Thuck._

_A voice hissing sharp whispers through the snow._

_Thuck._

She broke into a desperate sprint, chasing the sound up the street and to an alleyway. Startled, Krillin and Piccolo ran after her.

Sliding to a stop she nearly toppled over herself, colliding with the edge of the alley wall. A man sat in the alleyway, back to her, straddled across a figure. He pulled back his fist, striking relentlessly again and again.

Vegeta.

* * *

Dodoria begged and pleaded bargaining information. But nothing worked, the flurry of blows rained down on her. She knew. She knew he was going to kill her.

It was all old news, things Vegeta had known or suspected. Nothing spectacular, definitely nothing that would quell his rage or change his mind.

"Wait...wait...stop, please. That night. The night of the fire….it…." She blubbered through a swollen bloody mouth.

As if the words themselves had a hold on him, he froze.

"What did you just say?" He spat, grabbing her by the collar of her shirt and yanked it upwards before slamming her mercilessly back down on the hard concrete.

"That night….it wasn't an accident...Frieza...he ordered it."

The suspicion that had always been there, suckling and tugging on the darkest corner of his mind; bleeding like spilled ink, covering everything in darkness.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he have  _believed_ him? Maybe he hadn't, maybe he had just accepted the answer because it was easier than facing the truth...

His captor had been the one that had mercilessly ripped his family and his life from him.

Rage sent flames through his veins, greedily devouring everything from the center of his chest to the tips of his fingers.

Dodoria saw him pause. She couldn't have known of the blazing hatred boiling within him. His face betrayed none of his feelings.

"Vegeta, listen" she wasn't calling him ' _Geets'_  anymore. "Frieza isn't taking chances with this one...he...he's called in Ginyu. He'll be here as soon as he finishes up in Africa…"

Vegeta's cold gaze returned to Dodoria's pathetic face. He was still expressionless.

Terror filled Dodoria's eyes.. "We...we can team up...maybe together...we can..." but Vegeta did not hear her begging. A deafening, wet crack silenced her as she went limp beneath him.

A small familiar voice whimpering behind him pulled him from his rage long enough to regain control.

_No. Fucking. Way._

* * *

Bulma bit her lip to force down the scream that began to rip through her chest. She heard the crack and watched the body go limp beneath Vegeta. For a moment he sat motionless. The three of them waited.

Vegeta leaned forward, reaching behind the dumpster and pulling out her duffle bag. With great effort he stood, his body trembling, jerking this way and that as it threatened to give out beneath him. The bag skidded to her feet, scraping along the ground.

"...team up…" he met her gaze, blood splattered his face, dripping down from his face, arms, and torso.

"W-what?" she managed to whisper.

"I...I wanna team...up…" he muttered before dropping to the ground with a heavy  _thud_  the bloody amber sphere rolled from his hand into the snow.

* * *

AN: I apologize for the delay everyone! Had some person tragedy to deal with. I am also participating as an artist in The Prince and The Heiress Vegebul Mayhem on Tumblr so you should all check it out and vote for your favorite pieces! I am hoping to stick strictly to my publishing schedule but I would rather turn out work that I love instead of publishing something that isn't ready for you all.

Thank you so much for all of your patience and your comments. I appreciate them all very much!

As always, the greatest of thanks to my valiant army of copy editors Hanko, Cindermane and dgschneider for tolerating my flurry of artistic writing and making it presentable! Especially Hanko for the late night write sesh.

And praises ever be to Her Holiness, Stupidoomdoodles and the lovely LadyVegeets for inspiring this fic and really for getting me writing for the first time.

Comments are welcome, say hello! I don't bite! I also want you all to know that I read all the comments left on the story and appreciate every one of them. I am sorry I haven't responded to all of you but I just want to give a huge thanks to everyone who has read and continues to read this for supporting me on this endeavor. It's been such a blast and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!


	11. The Answer

**THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW**

PART TWO

* * *

 by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

* * *

  **CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE ANSWER**

* * *

 

**CONTENT WARNING: Graphic depictions of violence, some language**

* * *

 

JANUARY 13th

The ocean breeze wafted the sweet, salty scent of the fresh ocean across the bar. The man's dark skin glistened with sweat and the salt of the sea under the glow of the string lights. He wore nothing but a pair of short swim trunks that hugged his large, muscular buttocks.. Swirling the bright blue drink with a graceful turn of his wrist he blinked dreamily across the open hut and into the darkness of the quiet beach, watching the people twist and dance. They kicked up the finest white sand that swept through the wind, away from the bar.

_How incredibly lucky._  He mused to himself, before repositioning to lean against the bar, and taking a smooth drink from his glass.

A deep voice burst through the soft calypso music as someone laughed uproariously and slammed into the smooth, dark wood of the bar. The seated man rolled his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering as he turned to face the man and fixing him with a look of disdain. He leaned in, his wrists crossing gracefully as they rested on his crossed knees. The poor drunk man had been chasing the same woman all evening and clearly wasn't going to get anywhere. It was becoming more than embarrassing, it was pathetic and worse...it was interrupting Ginyu's peaceful night.

"Hon, can I give you a little advice? She obviously isn't into you, and who could blame her? I'd suggest looking elsewhere." He winked, his voice dripping with sass before swiveling around on his stool and taking another sip from his drink.

The drunk laughed dizzily before shoving his hand into the seated man's crotch.

"Is this what you had in mind, mate? Fucking puff…"

The seated man tensed, his eyes focused intently on his drink.

"Gee, you don't know how this works." the seated man said, his voice a playful tone, tugging at the corners of his rich voice. "You see, you have to buy me a drink first…"

Before the drunk could react, the other man had grasped him by the wrist, wrenched it to the side and crashed a fist into his solar plexus.

"See, it would never work out between us, you… you can't even handle it a little rough. What a shame."

Within a fraction of a second, there were bouncers on him.

A fraction of a second later, they too were on the floor.

"Welcome to the party, gentlemen. The more the merrier…." his voice seemed to relish the final syllables as the remaining patrons scrambled and screamed, and those who were brave or foolish enough to challenge him met their fate without having enough time to realize how outclassed they were. It was a flurry of snapping limbs, bashed in faces, caved-in rib cages, and utter carnage. The large man was as creative as he was graceful - no two of his victims had the same injuries or died the same death. All they had in common was a horrible death on a quiet beach.

Most remarkably, as if taking on more than a dozen bouncers and foolhardy tourists wasn't enough, he himself was immaculate. Not only did he avoid taking even a single blow, not a piece of food or drop of liquid - beverage or blood - touched his skin. It was almost poetic the way he moved.

The chaos was punctuated by the sound of a soft cellphone ringtone. Without slowing the large dark man pulled his phone from his pocket and answered.

"Ginyu."

He stopped for just a moment as a sick grin danced across his lips. The drunk man was crawling desperately through the sand and bodies, trying to escape.

Ginyu shoved the phone back in his shorts. Then with a look as cold and deep as the ocean, he met the drunk man's terrified gaze before grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling his head back. He had saved him for last so he could watch. He inserted a few fingers into the man's mouth and yanked until, with a sickening crunch, his jaw snapped from its hinges, blood pouring from the man's mouth. His killer moved his face in, millimeters from his. Ginyu gracefully pulled him in to kiss him, and took a thick swallow of the blood that was spilling forth from what used to be a cute face.

Ginyu smiled. "Thanks for the drink,  _mate_." The words seemed to ooze from his sticky lips. He winked at the man one more time before snapping his neck. He dropped the bloody figure while wiping his mouth, letting the body topple over a barstool before dropping to the sand with a heavy  _thud_.

* * *

 

SEPTEMBER 13th

Bulma lay awake, as she had every night for the past two months. Sometimes sleep came, sometimes it didn't. She listened to the crickets sing their gentle songs and sighed deeply.

Things would never be like they had been. Had they ever really  _been,_  though? Was she tricking herself, fooling herself into thinking that what was, had been real at all?

She lifted up her phone and pressed the home button. Ignoring the time she drank in the awkward photo of her and Vegeta that she had set as her background. He looked like he was posing for a mugshot, her arms slung carelessly around his shoulders.

She had been so happy.

_Vegeta. Always so serious._  She almost laughed to herself as she felt a tear trickle down the side of her face, dance around her ear and disappear into her hair.

* * *

 

10 YEARS EARLIER

Vegeta slipped out into the hallway in somber silence. It was over, for now. The only thing to do was to move forward and never look back again. It had worked out well for him so far. The hallway was empty and the loneliness wrapped around him like a blanket. It was a relief. No need for show or pretense, he could breathe and he did. He breathed and choked on the stench of peculiar cologne.

Out of the shadows a tall, toned teenaged boy emerged. Ginyu. Vegeta struggled once again to control the wave of panic and nausea that so easily rolled up and down his body. Ginyu must have been waiting for Frieza's reception and had seen Vegeta leave his chambers.

Tugging on the hem of his sweatshirt in an act of faux confidence, Vegeta swallowed the bile that rose in throat and wiped the blood from his mouth and nose. It had only been a year, or was it two? He trying to remember Vasili's words.

_They can take everything, but pride is the one thing no man can take from you- they can only take it if you give it._

He stood up as tall as he could and pushed himself forward through the humiliation and shame that trickled down between his legs. Ginyu moved from off the wall where he watched Vegeta like a hungry animal, to stand directly in his path.

And for a time that is where he stayed, lips pursed, nostrils flared.

"You're in my way." Vegeta growled squaring up to the large, burly boy. He was easily a foot taller than Vegeta, probably more. It seemed Ginyu had gotten taller since they had last seen each other...Vegeta had not.

"You're in  _my_  way." The words punctuated by a thick finger pushing forcefully into his chest. Vegeta knew firsthand how much stronger Ginyu was. Ginyu had made sure of that.

"What do you want... _Ginyu_?" he didn't try to hide his disdain as the name slipped through his lips, craning his eyes to meet the boy's gaze without lifting his head.

Ginyu leaned in closer, beaming at the smaller boy. Vegeta could practically taste his breath.

"Your head on a motherfucking plate." Ginyu hissed, pushing on Vegeta's shoulders. He caught himself against the wall and pushed forward, cocking his head to the side playfully and crossing his arms. Ginyu knew what he was doing here and Vegeta knew that. He had been called for a mission briefing, which had been so much more than that. It almost always was.

"Tzch, is someone sour because it's been too long since Daddy gave them a good fuck? You'd probably like that, wouldn't you?" Vegeta felt his stomach turn as the words shot out of his mouth, but it didn't matter.

Anything to harm Ginyu, anything to get him out of his way. Ginyu was a foolish target to have but an easy one, he was standing right there. The red hot words slipped out of his mouth, burning his tongue and with that Vegeta did something Nappa had warned him time and time again not to do. He looked up, locking eyes with Ginyu and refusing to look away.

The large boy screamed a guttural cry, launching himself at Vegeta, easily overpowering him. He landed on frail boy's chest, nearly crushing his ribs. Wasting no time, Ginyu began to pound his fists into Vegeta's eye sockets.

"You disgusting little freak. Don't you look at me. Don't look at me. Don't. Look. At. Me." he screamed over and over. At first Vegeta tried to fight back, desperately clawing at the air and trying to push the large boy off of him. He squirmed under the crushing weight of the other boy his sneakers squeaking against the stone floor as he struggled. Ginyu was too powerful and filled with a rage that practically sent electricity crackling through his fists. Vegeta felt a cracking, popping explosive pain that sent a shock through his spine and down into his hands with every hit.

Ginyu did not stop as he continued to scream, pummeling Vegeta's eyes. With every blow that connected with his face he could feel his body jolt. His head began to slip around on the marble as blood poured generously from his face and pooled underneath him, trickling down his neck and matting his hair.

If this is how he was going to die at least he would finally be free. He would not beg, he would not cry. He wouldn't give Ginyu the satisfaction.

"You think you're so special. You think he loves you? You think you're strong but you're  _weak_. You're NOTHING!" Ginyu wailed.

* * *

 

SEPTEMBER 14th

Vegeta woke with a jolt, arms thrown over his face, cold sweat clinging to his skin. He tried desperately to control his breathing but he was paralyzed, unable to move. His eyes darted rapidly around the dark room, tracing the lines of light that spilled in from the open window and danced along the stucco walls. His bones felt hollow as they vibrated in his body, shaking the metal bed frame. It squeaked and moaned under him.

When he finally regained some semblance of control he found his trembling fingers wandering up to the crescent scar that hugged his eye socket. Everything ached. He pulled himself up and blinked away the clouds from his eyes, squinting in the darkness he groped blindly for his cellphone.

3:59 am.

Same as always.

Every morning like clockwork he would wake at 3:59 am, like he had always done. He was beginning to think it would be this way for the rest of his life. It had been almost eight months since he had given the dragon balls back to Bulma, and two since he had left with them. He swallowed the ache in the pit of his stomach.

The bed creaked quietly around him. He needed out. Padding silently across the small room he peeled off his sweaty tank top and pulled on a fresh one trying to blink the sleep away.

Snatching the duffle bag, he crawled through the roof access and scrambled to the top of the building. Out of habit he shoved the bag underneath his legs, looking out on the sleepy city. He never went anywhere without it. There was too much at risk to leave it lying about, even for a moment.

Vegeta had become more and more restless as the weeks dragged on. Running his hand over his face and pulling the condensation from his skin he breathed in the thick, heavy air as deep as his lungs would allow.

Heavy ashen clouds blocked out the starlight, trapping in the humidity. It smelled like rain. He hugged his legs, resting his chin atop his knees. The silence was crushing, he had become used to the sound of Bulma's voice filling the space between words. He tried not to think, thinking meant remembering which almost always led to regretting. He'd rather avoid the whole mess entirely and solve things as he always had, with his hands.

Pulling his left hand away from the tangle of limbs, he held it up to the sky, reaching for the clouds and watching, moving his four fingers up and down, twisting them this way and that. It still looked odd, still felt wrong. The doctor at Capsule Corp had tried to reattach the finger but it was long gone, the nerves were dead. They had managed to save the rest of his hand from the raging infection left from the cauterization. That would have to do.

There were times he swore he could feel it. An itch he could never scratch, a phantom limb. He had adapted quickly enough to working without it but it still felt...wrong. Ugly burn scars wrapped around his hand and through his fingers. A permanent reminder of his last visit to the VIP Suite. A reminder of Frieza, like so many other scars.

He sighed. Scars weren't new. In fact, they were one of the few constants in his life.

He absentmindedly shut off his phone alarm that he still set to 4 AM in case he ever overslept. He never did, but he kept the alarm set anyway.

He shut his eyes and there she was. She haunted him. Always there behind his eyelids. He couldn't escape her, even now as he sat on the empty rooftop thousands of miles away… he still wasn't used to this feeling. If he could have reached inside himself and claw it out, he would have. He never once in his life expected or even wanted to have any kind of relationship like this, but she didn't give him much of a choice, and he wanted to hate her for it, but he couldn't.

That frozen January day it had finally become clear that his life really wouldn't ever be the same...

* * *

JANUARY 23rd

Vegeta took a deep breath. It almost ached to pull the air deep into his crackling lungs. He tried to blink the blur from his eyes. There was something...what...what was that? A fan? A ceiling fan...where? Moving his fingers he felt the weight of something on his hand. Bulma was curled up, sleeping peacefully, her head resting on the edge of the bed, hands wrapped carefully around his.

_She must have brought me here._

Instinctually, he pulled away. Feeling something he couldn't quite describe...it was an uncomfortable mixture of guilt, anger, and sadness. But he couldn't bring himself to push her away, he cautiously wrapped his hand around hers.

Where  _was_ he? Looking around the room he quickly realised he was somewhere he did not recognize. It wasn't his apartment and it wasn't hers...wasn't that hermits house either, but it smelled sterile, like industrial cleaners and antiseptic.

He laid his head back down on his pillow, his mind racing. Turning his head, he saw a digital clock on the table next to him.

3:59

_Tzch._ He scoffed at himself. How incredibly  _punctual_  of him. Even nearly dead, he was too stubborn to break a habit. The breath caught in his throat as pain rippled through his body. It would be hard to not scoff again until he healed.

Committing himself to try and relax at least long enough to be able to stand again, he immediately broke that promise with a wide-eyed gasp. The pain that shot through him this time wasn't enough to distract him from what surprised him.

Bulma's thumb had moved. It was gently caressing the back of his hand ever so slightly.

His look of consternation slowly softened into a smile. Not the usual crooked half sneer he fell into so easily, but a  _genuine smile_. Realizing how foolish he must look, he wasn't sure which disturbed him more - that Bulma was by his bedside, obviously tending to his wounds and  _comforting_  him, or that something deep inside him melted at the thought.

He fell asleep pondering that.

Sometime later, Bulma groggily awoke. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she looked longingly and lovingly at Vegeta as he slept. She needed to head down to the lab to rerun the input of codes. She felt  _so close_  to another breakthrough but she hesitated. Something was different about him this morning. He was more relaxed, more at peace, and… he was smiling. She had hardly slept at all for the last week that Vegeta lay unconscious, recovering from his wounds.

For the first time in a long time, she left the room with the slightest hint of her characteristically optimistic bounce back in her stride.

* * *

 

SEPTEMBER 14th

Peering through the gap in his fingers Vegeta moved them together and apart peering down at the streets below. His mind ran through the same question it did every dull, restless morning before he packed up and moved on another day of hopping from shadow to shadow, place to place.

_How long would he be able to run before Ginyu found him?_

There was only one way to find out.

* * *

 

SEPTEMBER 17th

Bulma slammed her fists on the metal work-table and pushed her chair back.

"UGH. Stupid fucking piece of shit. This is so infuriating I could just SCREAM." She yelled at no one.

Her father meekly poked his head in through the door to her lab, a crumpled cigarette hanging lazily from the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sorry dear, did you say something?"

"No, dad. I'm fine." Bulma responded, her calm returning.

Bulma needed to clear her thoughts; they were thicker than usual, running quickly through her mind, weaving around each other, and getting lodged this way and that until she had thought herself into knots she couldn't think her way out of. That was the problem with being a genius. Just because she was smart didn't mean she was wise. She'd been at this for months. Especially the last few weeks she'd been devoting all her waking hours to figuring this out. Since Vegeta ran off she'd lost interest in pretty much everything, but she forced herself to keep busy. Eyes dry from sleeplessness, she tried to blink it away but it just seemed to make it worse. She couldn't stop thinking about him while she worked. Her body was ready to sleep about eight hours ago but her mind had refused to stop it's downward spiral. She needed to think, or stop thinking - she couldn't decide, she'd have to think about that.

She  _knew_  the dragon balls encoded information about some kind of nano-technology. She even had most of the programming figured out from what she had previously gleaned from the dragon balls themselves. She just couldn't figure out how to activate the damn things. Every experiment ended in agonizing failure. And if there was one thing she could not handle, it was her own failure. She hated problems she couldn't solve, and perhaps that's why she put so much effort into solving things.

She took a breath as she picked up her things that had fallen to the floor around her workspace. As she straightened out the piles of paper and shuffled her various flash drives into their proper cubbies, she spotted something. She picked the small paper up slowly. The only real photo she had of her and Vegeta. She ran her fingers over the glossy front. Fighting back tears she opened up her phone.

"Call Krillin." She droned numbly. After a few rings his voice cut in, far too cheery for her current mood.

"Hey Bulma, what's up?"

"Have you found anything yet?"

"I  _do_ have a job, you know?"

"Did you find anything or not?"

Krillin sighed dejectedly, she could hear him reposition the phone and mumble into it quietly. "I can't really talk about this, I am at the station right now….but...if you insist on bothering me incessantly...no, I haven't. I just checked this morning. There's still no reports or sign of Vegeta, anywhere."

"And you double checked with -"

"Yes Bulma." Krillin cut in. "Just like every day, I cross referenced every system I know, every local, state, and federal department. Nobody has any idea about anyone even remotely resembling Vegeta. It may be easier if the dude, y'know did  _anything_  on the radar but he's so far below it I can't even-"

Bulma sighed. "Alright, thanks."

"You know, I even checked in with international agencies." Krillin said, a bit of pride in his voice. "I had to run a virtual machine with a foreign IP running some software to trick the system into believing I was local, but once I got the right coordinates plugged in, I was able to even trick Interpol."

"...Wait, shut up. Repeat what you just said."

"Uhh… come on Bulma, you're more tech savvy than I am… I didn't expect you wouldn't get that. I just tricked a system into thinking I was someone else from a different location. The US Embassy in Israel to be exact." he snickered to himself.

"...co-ordinates…" Bulma mumbled under her breath. "HOLD ON."

Desperately, Bulma started tearing through the pile of papers on her desk… yes… this was it. That vapid bald-headed moron had just stumbled on the key to her problem.

Finally, she found the paper she had been looking for. It had been crumpled and uncrumpled several times in frustration, bits of fine cigarette ash speckled the paper, but she could still read the data on it… as seemingly random assortment of numbers and letters. She'd run it through every algorithm she could think of and gotten nothing…. How could she have been so blind.

"YES!" she yelled a bit too loud.

"Gee, Bulma, give me a bit of a warning next time, will ya?"

"Shut up, Krillin." She retorted, quickly. "Now where did I… aha!" She grabbed a pencil.

She continued to mumble as she did some calculations in her head. She translated the hexidecimal code into base-ten, and then inputted that into her computer… Just as she thought. They were a series of powers of prime numbers… a few prime factorizations later and she had a wonderful set of ...  _Coordinates_.

Bulma laughed. How in the world could she have missed that. She plugged them into her computer.

30.075897, 81.720652

"Nepal." Bulma said, triumphantly.

"You...ya lost me there, Bulma."

"Nepal is the answer, Krillin. It's been staring me in the face the whole damn time." She shouted.

"Yeah...no….still lost."

"Look, I think Kami was from Nepal, originally. I think his lab is in the mountains near ...Khagalgaun."

"Khagwawhuh?"

"Just shut up and get over here. We're taking a little vacation."

"...joy."

* * *

 

"Absolutely not."

"But-"

"No. I said: 'no'. How many times must I say it. No. Not in one million years Son Goku." ChiChi slammed the soup ladle on the table and met Goku's eyes with a threatening glare.

Bulma silently thanked herself for telling ChiChi it was a sightseeing vacation and not...oh…. a search for an obscure laboratory of a long-dead-possibly-mad-scientist in the mountains.

"You just got well enough to help out around here again. I'm not letting you run off half way across the world. It's about time you learn how to be a responsible adult like the rest of society."

Goku turned to Bulma with sad eyes and a sheepish grin. "Gee, sorry Bulma, looks like I won't be joining you."

As it stood ChiChi was not letting Goku out of her sight, though she had conceded with Gohan, allowing him to go for "educational enrichment".

"That's okayGoku." Bulma said cheerfully as she threw her arms around him. "We will miss you." carefully she slid a small crumpled up paper into his hand and smiled. Praying to the Gods he could take a hint and not say anything.

* * *

 

SEPTEMBER 19th

Vegeta slung the duffle over his shoulder and shoved the wad of cash down in his pocket as he watched the motorcycle peel away through the dusty marketplace. It had been a long time since he had been to India. Kanpur was a good place to hide, at least for now. A bustling city nestled along the banks of a powerful river. It was big but not too big. Any of Frieza's men would have trouble navigating the city and he would see them coming from a mile away. They didn't know how to disappear quite like Vegeta did. When he faded into the shadows it was as if he had never existed at all. And here he could easily fade away. That's what he needed.

Ginyu had been hot on his trail for weeks but in the past few days - nothing.

Tossing the old burner phone in the trash after removing the battery from it, he pulled a new one from his pocket and turned it on.

It had been a good nine days since the last call he made….not that he had been counting. He dialed the number and hesitated, looking around the bustling crowd of pedestrians and vendors. This was not the place. Frieza's men may be fools but he had eyes and ears everywhere. He shook his head. He almost made a rookie mistake, he needed to get it together if he was going to survive this. Every move counted. He wouldn't make it easy for them. If Ginyu was going to catch Vegeta he would have to earn it.

And in the blink of an eye, the dark and brooding figure vanished into the bustling crowd.

He pulled the phone from his pocket. It was early afternoon there. He made his way through the winding streets and to his motel fighting the urge to anxiously thumb the phone in his jeans.

Slipping quietly into the shadow of the dark room he tossed down the duffle bag and yanked the phone from his pocket. Dialing the now familiar number. It had neverrang more than once before the line connected, until now.

* * *

 

JUNE 5th

They collapsed onto the bed. And for a while the two of them stayed just like that. Breathlessly tangled together, naked and dripping wet.

Bulma nuzzled into the crook of his arm resting her head on Vegeta's chest and tracing mindless patterns across his skin.

Thoughtfully she rested her hand on the pitted bullet scar on his abdomen.

"I...I wish it could stay this way forever." she whispered and she watched him curl back inside of himself. The warmth in his eyes pittering out.

Tenderly he unravelled and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her amongst the crumpled sheets and blankets.

"It can't." his breaking voice betrayed him. He could feel her gaze but he kept his eyes on the ceiling fan as it spun rapidly.

Something in her told her to drop it, to just let it go and to crawl back into his arms. But she didn't, she couldn't. Reaching out she put her hand softly on his back and forced a cheerful tone, though her voice was barely a whisper.

"We...we could run away. You never have to face Frieza again. We-"

He broke. Whipping around to face her, fire licking his dark eyes the words cut through the stale air.

"No. Bulma. We  _can't._ There is nowhere in this world I can go where Frieza cannot find me." he sighed a tired sigh that collapsed his shoulders and softened his eyes.

"We are alive right now because he wants us to be. If we are right, he wants your research. When you've completed it, and you are so  _God fucking damn_  close…" she could see his whole body tense then his shoulders dropped again, "All of  _this,"_ he gestured to the room around him openly, "all of this will be over."

"Vegeta, you're one of the strongest people I know. I bet that you and Goku could-"

"Bulma you don't understand. Frieza, he's not  _normal_. There's...something wrong with him."

"What kind of something?"

"Frieza is the sort of person who revels in the fanfare. Unanswered questions, mystery...they breed fear. He lives for it. All I know is what I've heard. One story is that when he was a child he was very sickly and small, his father took it upon himself to change that, in doing so he realized that Frieza had talent. A fighting prodigy so to speak. Some of the Ice Men say that he has some sort of muscular mutation that makes his joints and muscles inhumanely strong, others say he is an android. Most just avoid whispering about him at all, out of fear they will be caught. They don't want to end up like..." He was silent for a moment. "Kakarrot's father."

Bulma waited patiently for an explanation. A thousand questions running through her mind.

"I was very young at the time. I had only been under Frieza for two or three years. But whispers of him always seem to rise back up from time to time. More as a warning than a legend. They say Frieza sent him and his team on a suicide purge mission. He was the only one who survived. He tried to kill Frieza. They say Frieza tore him limb from limb with his bare hands. Then as a punishment, he executed every Ice Man associated with him or his team and anyone who they had ties to. Frieza hung his corpse outside to rot. Said it was to teach others a lesson about  _fealty_." Vegeta sneered at the last word. Letting it linger in the air.

"When he's good and ready he'll come for us. No one defies Frieza." He could see the panic in her eyes, "But…," he moved closer, cupping her face in his large, rough hands. "I won't let that happen, Bulma."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to kill him."

* * *

SEPTEMBER 19th

Bulma stared blankly ahead through the wisping clouds that danced around the windshield of the plane. She set the autopilot and grabbed hold of the grip that hung from the ceiling, making her way back,to the cabin.

Sleep haunted her. She tried to stay away as long as possible but it called to her. Her body simply couldn't anymore. She was exhausted. Pulling out the small flip phone, her fingers ran over the smooth plastic edges. She flipped it open and then closed again.

Nothing. Still nothing. She should have heard  _something_  by now.

Finally after eleven rings it picked up. Vegeta felt the tension in his heart slowly wane.

Something was wrong. The line was silent and it echoed back to him like a gunshot in his ears. Everything in him glowed with adrenaline. He wanted to scream out her name. But he knew better than to break the silence. Finally, it was broken for him with the sound of a smooth, coy baritone voice that reverberated through the speaker.

"Hello, Vegeta. You're looking well."

Vegeta's world stopped, shooting needles down to his fingertips. But he was smarter than that, he didn't take the bait. He waited as the silence carried on absentmindedly rubbing the scar that curved around his eye.

"Well...well for  _you._ Better than Miss Briefs, I would venture to say. She is looking a little pale nowadays. Poor thing hasn't been getting any sleep."

He swallowed hard, keeping his composure and trying to sound as casually irritated as possible.

"Ginyu."

* * *

* * *

 

AN: One thousand thanks to all of my readers and their patience with this chapter! My life has been a whirlwind and because this was the first chapter after the comic I really wanted to do it right. A lot of things are on the horizon and I can't wait for them.

Of course a huge thank you to my valiant copy-editors who make me look like less of an idiot. And praises ever be to her Holiness Stupidoomdoodles for inspiring this fic!

XOXO, The Not-So-Super Saiyan


	12. The Force

THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW

PART TWO

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

* * *

 

CHAPTER TWELVE: THE FORCE

* * *

 

Content Warning: graphic depiction of violence, strong language  


* * *

 

SEPTEMBER 19th

"Oh Vegeta, dear, you can drop the act. I know you're just," Ginyu's voice purred as he sucked in a sharp breath, " _shivering_  with anticipation."

"Tzch. Honestly, I couldn't give a fuck. I just want you to stop talking."

"Aren't you just  _dying_  to know how I figured you out?"

He was. His mind raced, what had he done that gave himself away? He had been so goddamn careful. Somewhere he had made a mistake that was going to cost him his life and possibly Bulma's as well.

Vegeta struggled to control his breathing, he couldn't let Ginyu know he was spiralling out of control. In an effort to stop hyperventilating, he stopped breathing all together. His lungs began to spasm. Hitting the mute on the phone he folded like a fan, his lungs exploding into action. He felt lightheaded.

_Blue. Bulma. He has her. He knows...he knows._

"You're getting sloppy Vegeta. You let your guard down."

In that very moment the world stopped. Everything else was gone, in its place there was only Vegeta and his survival.

Ginyu was right, he had let his guard down. He had been so focused on the call he hadn't done a sweep of the perimeter or the room. A mistake he would not make again. Vegeta had returned, his senses sharpened.

The window had been open prior to his arrival and the skinny street dog in front of the motel had barked incessantly. Now the open window wafted in the sweet scent of hot earth and an eerie silence.

"Tell me, Vegeta, what is it like," Ginyu mocked wistfully, "to be  _in love?_ "

Ginyu spoke but Vegeta did not hear him. He slowly reached for his gun with his right hand, his movement impossibly slow and hidden from the window. His eyes moved just enough to see the window out of his peripherals.

He could  _feel_ someone there.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as the wind picked up, rustling the leaves of the low mango tree across the street.

Then it happened all at once. Vegeta dropped to the ground, laying flush against the rough, stale carpet his shoulder making contact with the floor, he flipped himself over to roll out from under the window. A bullet ripped through the air right where his left eye socket was moments before. It shattered the dingy mirror on the wall into a thousand shards of glass. They rained down on the bed and on Vegeta. He covered his face with his right arm snatching the duffle bag with his left, a bullet just nearly missing his hand and burrowing into the mattress, down fluff floating through the air.

Bullets were not flying wantonly. Whoever it was, they were patient and extremely precise. But Vegeta had been faster.

_The Force...Ginyu sent The Force._

Under Frieza's command he operated a small team of elite Ice Men, it was simply known as The Force. Frieza sent them in when there was no room for error. Vegeta smirked, it had been far too long since he'd felt this alive.

He wasn't going to stick around long enough for the sniper to get another shot at him. He scrambled through the splintered glass to the open bathroom and threw the small window open. Pulling himself up he shot his legs through the window and dropped to the ground outside.

"What do you mean you left him a  _message_?" Krillin questioned as he straightened up the piles of papers strewn about the cabin of the aircraft.

"I mean just what I said,  _dumbass_. I left a message with Goku to rendezvous with us. I left his tickets and information with my dad. Hopefully he's smarter than you or Frieza will catch us and we'll all die and we'll never get to Kami's."

Bulma had been in a sour mood for the past couple of months, but nothing compared to how incredibly unpleasant she had been to the two of them since they'd set off.

"Gee, Bulma you don't have to get nasty about it y'know? I was just askin'." He shoved more of the trash Bulma had left littered about in a trash bag. He  _wanted_  to tell her what a slob she had been, but thought better of it.

Bulma stared wistfully out the window of the plane then back at the burner phone in her hand.

Vegeta had done what he set out to do. But at what cost?

Vegeta landed gracefully on the ground on the balls of his feet, his palms steadying him. It would have been a flawless escape had he not landed right in front of a greasy, bulbous man.

The man scoffed, puffing on a cigar. "Where do you think you're going?" He taunted in his obnoxious Jersey accent as he blew cigar smoke in Vegeta's face.

 _Guldo_. Vegeta was almost honored that Ginyu thought so highly of him to send two of his elites after him.  _Almost._ Vegeta slowly stood smirking at the shorter man.

It had been a long time since the two of them had fought and Vegeta was a lot stronger now. This could be fun.

"Vegeta, how nice to see you. Why don't you stay a while?" He shifted the cigar in his mouth, chewing on the end. The gold chain around his neck catching the light of the streetlamps.

Vegeta sighed causally. "Hate to say it but... I'm gonna have to take a rain check, you see I'm  _awful_  busy at the moment and... _tsk_...I gotta run." he slung the bag so it hung off the opposite shoulder and across his chest. Casually shifting his weight, he gestured to the dark street behind Guldo.

"Well then, we seem to be at a impart." Guldo sneered, pulling a shiny set of brass knuckles from his back pocket. He slid them onto his meaty fingers, moving them around and adjusting for the weight.

"Impasse."

"What?"

"The word is impasse, Guldo." Vegeta picked at his nails casually, looking incredibly unimpressed.

"You fuckin' prick. God, I always hated you. Always such a smug lil' fucker. I'm gonna beat that smile off your ugly face just like I used to when you were a kid."

Vegeta slid the knife from the holster on his back, flipping the blade around with a flourish and gripping the handle once again. A dark smile curled around his teeth as they flashed white in the darkness.

"You're more than welcome to try."

* * *

 

JULY 2nd, two months earlier

Bulma bounced down the stairs to her workshop, humming an airy tune. She was so close, she could just  _feel_  it. The answer was there, she just had to find it. She punched in her code and with a click of the automatic lock, she swung the door open.

Her heart stopped.

"Ve-Vegeta?"

There he stood silently, feet apart, arms crossed taught over his chest, and her duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

No, it couldn't be.

"Wh-what are you doing down here?" She knew the answer. But she didn't want to. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

He smirked at her, his eyes no longer playful but dark. "Oh, you're such a clever little girl, I'm sure you can figure it out."

He circled around her like a hungry animal and for the first time she was truly, genuinely afraid of him.

"Honestly I was not impressed. I expected so much more from you. Oh well, doesn't matter now." With a graceful sweep of his arm, he reached into the back of his jeans and pulled out the gun, clicking off the safety and aiming it between her eyes.

A fluttering gasp escaped her lips as she screwed her eyes shut. In an instant he was upon her, cold metal prickled against the flesh of her cheek. With the other hand he pinched her cheeks between his fingers.

"Open your eyes and look at me."

She shook her head meekly.

"What's the passcode to the program simulation, Miss Briefs?" she flinched at the formal name. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She felt the gun shift as it clicked.

"Three."

She bit her lip.

"Two."

No, this couldn't be happening.

"O-"

"It's….it's pineapple." the words poured generously from her mouth.

She met his gaze, hatred burning from the small broken pieces of her heart. He smiled, leaning in and kissing her on the lips. She tried to pull away but he had her trapped.

"Thanks sweetheart." He patted her on the cheek condescendingly and walked to the stairs.

"Oh, and don't try to follow me. If you send Kakarot I will kill not only him, but everyone you know."

He saw the metal tray swing at him just in time to dodge. He met her attack in kind with a slap to her cheek. It stung. Hard. She felt the flesh begin to swell and tears once again sting her eyes.

"You fucking bastard." she screamed.

He turned away, opening the door once again, without turning back he muttered coldly.

"I always told you I was a bad man." There was a hint of sadness buried deep in his voice.

* * *

 

SEPTEMBER 19th

Guldo swung at Vegeta, his fist cutting through the air, Vegeta grasped the back of his thick arm and rolled along the side of it until he was behind Guldo. 180 degrees from where he had started.

"Stay still you fucking ass hat." Guldo spat.

Vegeta couldn't help but laugh. This was fun. Too much fun.

Vegeta bounced lightly on his feet, the duffle bag slapping his back as he did. Guldo turned to face him.

"I thought you said you were the fastest man in the world?" he taunted the shorter man.

"That's Burter. But you'll never make it to fighting him. Because I'm gonna fuckin' kill you first." Guldo screamed as he swung at Vegeta once again.

Vegeta's right hand shot out in the dark, grasping his throat, his other hand grabbing a handful of Guldo's stringy slicked back hair and yanking him backwards. His foot slid in between Guldo's legs sweeping them from underneath him and causing the man to crash to the ground, in the process, pulling the brass knuckles off his hand.

Vegeta snorted cockily.

"I'm honestly insulted. Is this the best that Frieza has to offer?"

Guldo looked up and past Vegeta, a nasty smirk contorting his fat face.

Vegeta whipped around his eyes catching the smallest red dot that danced across his shirt. He had to time it just right. Rolling right as the bullet whizzed from the gun. It struck Guldo through the shoulder.

No time to waste.

Guldo screamed but before his body could hit the ground Vegeta's hand sliced through the air.

Guldo toppled to the ground. Head and body falling in different directions.

He pivoted again. The sniper was gone.

_Shit._

Vegeta took off in the direction of the building. His sprint nearly silent as he bounced off the bumper of a parked car, grabbing onto a windowsill, flipped himself up, and scrambling to the top of the roof.

Vegeta could see the figure hop to the next roof. He wasted no time, sprinting and throwing himself across the distance, his ankle turning right as he lept. His ribs collided with the hard concrete edge of the next building, knocking the air from his lungs. He scrambled and clawed his way onto the roof spinning around, his eyes slowly tracking through the darkness to the figure as he hopped to the roof of the next building.

Vegeta took aim and threw the long blade at the figure. He fell and skid on the concrete. Cursing.

_Ha. Gotcha._

Backing up, he ran as fast as he could and closed the gap between him and the sniper. He stood over him as he scrambled to try and stand and failed, a knife sticking from the center of his spine.

Vegeta wedged a shoe around his foot and with a swift circle of his leg flipped them over.

A young Australian man with leathery tan skin and nearly white hair stared back at him. Huffing and shaking, the fear in his eyes betrayed him.

"Vegeta. Nice to see you again."

Vegeta kicked him to one side and pulled the blade from his back with a vicious yank. Cocking his head he shifted his weight playfully, one hand hung lazily at his side, the other spinning the knife in the dark, it's length catching the moonbeams and flashing in the dark.

"Jeice. I should've known it was you."

Inspecting the blade in the moonlight he shook his head.

"Boy are you lucky you were wearing that vest." he lifted the sniper from the ground until they were face to face, the blade point poking into Jeice's throat. "I have a message for your boss, and you are going to deliver it for me."

"Why should I?" Jeice's lips curled in disgust.

"Because," Vegeta smiled and pushed him away, bearly knocking him off his feet a dark laugh he tossed something into Jeice's hands. Jeice looked down into Guldo's glossy dead eyes and dropped the head, catching a scream in his throat.

"Now, listen closely…."

God it was good to be back.

* * *

 

JULY 1st, two months earlier

"It's the only way." Vegeta whispered to her as she curled up in his arms, blankets tangling around them. He lifted up the corner and tucked it behind her neck to cover her exposed back.

"You are so bad at covering yourself, you know that?" He smirked gently. But she greeted him with silence.

He ran his fingers through her soft blue hair. Silver strands catching in the moonlight.

"Bulma. Listen to me. We have to do this right, or it won't work. Do you understand me?"

She nodded meekly, never lifting her head to meet his gaze but burying it deeper in his chest instead.

Vegeta didn't think she  _did_  understand.

"Hey, Blue, look at me." He lifted her chin tenderly to meet her gaze. Her eyes were deep and glossy with fresh tears. He lifted his thumb and gingerly wiped them away. This whole situation was making him feel far too uncomfortable.

"Ugh...look, Blue, tomorrow night... I...I am going to say things, do things, that...I don't mean. Just...just remember that."

She grasped him tightly and pulled him in as close as she could and he rested his chin on her head, running his hand up and down her back.

After a moment he felt a soft kiss on his collar bone. Then another. She left a trail of electric sparks from his chest to his ear tightening his skin and sending shivers down his back. Sniffling she whispered.

"Then we better make tonight count."

* * *

 

SEPTEMBER 20th

Launch stared into the flickering light of the deep yellows and reds of the sign. "Golden Dragon".

 _Ugh._   _Stupid fucker probably fell asleep._

Bulma had made it clear that she wasn't to risk blowing Goku's cover. Easy. She didn't care much anyways. She had better things to do. Propping her foot up on the side of the chopper, she flicked the cigarette into the gutter without bothering to stomp it out. She heard it hiss as it floated in the gutter water.

It was raining hard, the pelting drops nearly stinging her skin. She liked it that way. She pulled out her phone shrugging the soggy leather jacket from her bare shoulders.

2:13 AM

_Stupid fucking bastard. Always fucking late._

The splash of running footsteps echoed from the restaurant.

"Finally." she muttered, swinging her leg over her motorcycle. It roared to life.

She pulled the helmet onto her head and tossed the second one at the figure running towards her.

"Hurry up and get on."

"Sorry Launch, ChiChi didn't go to bed for  _hours_  and I had to sneak out through the window because I didn't remember the code for the alarm." Goku chuckled sheepishly rubbing the back of his head.

"Don't care. Just get on. We have to hurry."

He swung onto the back of the motorcycle and grabbed onto her waist.

The motorcycle peeled out and sprayed water generously over the parked cars that lined the streets. Over the roar of the engine no one could hear Goku whisper.

"ChiChi, I'm sorry. I'll be back, I promise."

* * *

 

JULY 1st, two months earlier

Bulma slid gracefully out of the bed and walked to the dresser, her naked form soaking in the moonlight as she swayed. Vegeta was hypnotised. She was so beautiful, and so much more than that. He would never understand why she loved him. It was almost like a dream, the first good dream he had ever had. He was terrified he would wake up one day to find it had all been a dream.

Vegeta knew he would need to hold onto these moments. Frieza was still out there and as long as he was alive Vegeta could never be.

He had been so lost in thought he hadn't seen her slide the top drawer closed again and crawl back into bed beside him. Nuzzling into his arms she held something small and cold to his chest. He lifted his hand to grasp at it.

"This is what I was working on when we first met. I call it the Dragon Radar. I want you to take it, so…" she sniffled, "so….that you can always find me. I will keep them with me. You just need to press this."

She guided his hand over the radar as she instructed him on how to use it. Slowly her fingers fell away from his as she looked up at him, tears in her eyes. Her eyes drank in his dark, brooding face. She brought her hand up and ran her thumb back and forth over his cheek.

* * *

 

SEPTEMBER 20th

Vegeta tossed the duffle bag forward with a huff. He was finally far enough away. He bumbled around in the bag, shoving the glass orbs aside and digging for the metal disc.

 _Gotcha_.

He couldn't call her, somehow it had been compromised, and he left the burner phone in his destroyed motel room all the way back in Kanpur.

No. He needed to go to her. The time for hiding was over. He didn't have time to be careful, didn't have time to figure out how Ginyu had figured him out, he didn't have time left at all.

He pressed the clicker on the side of the device.

"Hang on. I'm coming." he whispered into the wind before disappearing into the early morning crowds.

* * *

* * *

 

AN:One thousand thanks to all of my readers and their patience with the transition from the end of the comic. Of course a huge thank you to my valiant copy-editors who make me look like less of an idiot. And praises ever be to her Holiness Stupidoomdoodles for inspiring this fic!

XOXO, The Not-So-Super Saiyan

 

 


	13. The Chase

**THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW**

**PART TWO**

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE CHASE**

* * *

 

Content Warning: violence and some language

* * *

 

SEPTEMBER 26th

It was humid and cold and dark and Bulma hated all three of those things. Thick fog floated freely about her as she weaved through the muddy streets.

"I've lost my mind." she muttered,"I'm on an ultra-dangerous-secret mission to  _change the world_  and I brought a  _child_  and a  _midget_  with me."

Krillin opened his mouth to speak but Gohan tugged on the sleeve of his jacket, shaking his head. Now was not the time to get her worked up. So instead they trudged on through the winding streets in silence looking for the motel where they had set up a rendezvous with Goku all the while Mindlessly listening to Bulma grumble.

Vegeta shoved his shaking hands into his pockets and turned his face to the wind.

_Wake up you weak little shit. Stay awake._

Ripping the sweatshirt from his body he let the cold fog prickle his skin. He hadn't slept in almost six days. The longest he had ever gone was ten. By that calculation he still had four days left. But he wasn't so sure.

He was exhausted and beginning to see things. Didn't have time to stop. He had to make it to Bulma. She wouldn't stand a chance against Frieza. Unclenching and clenching his fists he looked out across the water. A small man sat across from him, steering the rudder. He spoke to Vegeta in a language he didn't understand, concern laced his voice. Vegeta said nothing in return.

When the banks of the river came into view Vegeta motioned for him to cut the motor and shoved a wad of cash in the man's hand before slinging the bag across his chest and plunging into the cold, murky water.

The man shook his head before turning the boat around and crossing back to the other side of the river.

_Damn tourists._

* * *

 

They opened the door to the small room. Bulma threw herself on the bed right inside the doorway, not bothering to strip off her damp clothes first. She let out a moaning scream into the scratchy, colorful blanket.

"I hate everything about everything." she whined.

Krillin rolled his eyes stripping off his wet jacket and dropping it in the wicker chair.

"Bulma. We really should get something to eat. We haven't eaten since we woke up this morning." when she didn't respond he continued, "You know, uh...if you ate something you'd probably feel a little better."

Her head whipped around, her body still flat against the bed. "NO,  _Krillin._ " She hissed. "I will not. You know what would make me feel  _a little_  better? Being home in a hot bath, safe from certain and impending doom would make me feel  _a little_  better. Figuring out the stupid secrets in these stupid balls without having to climb up a stupid mountain to do it. Oh, and let's see...knowing whether or not Vegeta is even  _alive_  would make me feel  _a little_  better. But no. Food is not going to  _make me feel better_."

Krillin instinctually took a step back as she railed into him mercilessly.

"O-okay. Well maybe you can wait here and Gohan and I will bring some food back for you. How does that sound?"

"Do whatever you want. I don't care." she turned and buried her face, once again, in the bed.

Krillin looked at Gohan. He was anxious to get away from Bulma if only for a few minutes.

"We will be right back, Bulma." he walked towards the door motioning to Gohan to follow. He could hear her quietly sniffling into the blankets. "Don't go anywhere." He teased awkwardly as he shut the creaking wooden door.

* * *

 

Vegeta slipped through the fog silently and gracefully. He pulled the radar from his pocket, clicking it on once again. He was  _so close_. The movement had slowed significantly. If he just knew where they were headed, if he could just keep up.

He had managed to dodge Ginyu this long but he wasn't convinced he was free of him. It would've been too easy. Nothing in his life had been that easy. Burter had caught up to him two days ago that meant Ginyu was hot on his trail. Burter had put up quite the fight. But he had ultimately been no match for Vegeta, not anymore.

Except for Bulma.

He tried not to think about her but she seemed to be everywhere he turned...and so was Ginyu. He told himself it was just the lack of sleep. He had chased her down more than once to find himself alone. She had been so close to where he was and he had no idea why. Had she found him? He told her not to try but...when had that ever stopped her before?

He pushed on through the exhaustion that threatened to turn his bones to blood and pull his legs from beneath him. Where ever she was he had to find her before Ginyu did.

It was late. Only beggars and drunks stumbled through the cold streets. The signal had stopped about 30 minutes ago. Hovering in the same place for the first time. Vegeta's heart pounded feverishly in his chest, shaking his very bones. He broke into a sprint. His feet pounding rhythmically, quietly through the muddy streets.

_Almost there._

He stopped mid-run nearly falling forward into the thick muck that coated the street.

Here. She was here. Right on the other side of the door.

He approached cautiously, slipping into the shadow cast by a street light pulling the gun from his jeans. And running his arm across the chipped paint of the door.

Steeling himself, he exhaled and twisted the nob.

_Unlocked._

_Stupid, stupid girl._

He burst into the room, following his gun as his eyes tracked through the dark, catching the trailing light that danced over the blankets from outside. The room looked empty.

Something was wrong.  _Very wrong_.

He spun around thrusting the gun into the figure's throat and pressing the metal deep into the tall man's skin. He wasted no time barreling into the figure, who stepped back into the wall, a wicked smile dancing across his face.

"Where is she?" Vegeta hissed as he cocked the gun.

Excitement danced in the man's eyes as he pressed his palms to the wall and slowly slid them upwards until they were above his head.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about." he mused playfully.

"Five seconds Ginyu. Where is she?"

"Oh, don't be like that. Don't you wanna know how I figured you out?"

"Five."

"Hmm. Really? You're not the least bit curious?"

"Four."

"Oh Vegeta, stop being such a prude." Ginyu teased as he wisped a lock of hair from Vegeta's face. He leaned in, brushing his lips against Vegeta's ear and sniffing his hair.

"Because...," he rubbed the side of his face against Vegeta's, "Three."

Vegeta was stunned for a moment as Ginyu took over his own threatening countdown. It was all Ginyu needed. Before Vegeta could react, he heard his gun clatter to the floor behind him and his head snapped back. He tasted blood before the pain registered.

He reeled back, having to drop to one knee to avoid falling on his face. He cursed himself, willing his trembling form to move but he could not.

"You know it suits you." Ginyu mused. Stepping closer with a sway of his hips, he traced his fingers gently along the jagged scar that hugged Vegeta's eye. "It suits him doesn't it Recoome?" Vegeta's head whipped around to find a second man, taller and burlier than the first standing directly behind him.

_God damn it._

How did he miss that? He was slipping.

The sound of Ginyu's voice pulled him back to the man in front of him. "Two."

Vegeta didn't see the blow coming, despite the fact that Ginyu liked to fight at a relatively long range. It was perfectly suited to outfighting Vegeta, who liked things close where his smaller frame was at less of a disadvantage and his usually larger opponents couldn't maneuver as well.

Vegeta fell backwards but before he could steady himself he felt a large, warm hand grasp his shoulder and run its way down the length to his hand, pulling him upright. Vegeta grabbed the wrist of the burly hand that held him aloft, attempting to get some leverage. Ginyu simply turned Vegeta's whole body until his back was to him.

He wrapped his arms around the smaller man's frame drawing him in closer.

"Because….you let her live."

Something inside of Vegeta broke. He screamed with primal fury as he began to lash out at Ginyu wildly. Ginyu couldn't help but enjoy himself. He would never let Vegeta know that he was, somewhere deep down, scared of the small man, but in his current state Vegeta posed little threat. He was too easy to read, too sloppy, too pathetic. After avoiding a few swings, he buried his foot into Vegeta's gut.

"One."

"Boss…"

"Yes, Recoome?" Ginyu looked up tenderly at the giant man, as he walked over to his victim, effortlessly lifting him by the collar of his jacket.

"Please, sir. Let me finish him." Ginyu smiled gently at Recoome and released Vegeta's shirt, letting him fall to the ground with a heavy thud, knocking the air from his lungs.

"Of course. I must meet with Lord Frieza. Do what you will but remember," he grabbed the duffle bag and headed for the door. He emphasized the last words, their dark tone a stark contrast to his previously gentle voice. "Lord Frieza wants him  _alive..._ for now, at least."

"You got it, boss." Recoome saluted Ginyu as he left. Placing one foot on either side of Vegeta's body and lifting him up in a bear hug. He tossed Vegeta against the wall, letting him slam into the surface and fall, once again, face first on the ground. The dirty mirror nailed to the wall nearly falling from its wire mount as he collided with it.

"You and I are going to have a lot of fun, Vegeta."

 

Bulma ran until she couldn't feel her cold, wet feet anymore. She tripped over them and fell to her knees. She tried to control her breath but it felt like her heart was slamming back and forth between her lungs. Looking up, she realised she had no idea where she was.

She had pulled a dragon ball out of its bag, admiring it's simplistic beauty. When she heard the footsteps outside she had hidden, slipping out the back before they entered the motel room. She began to run and didn't look back. She couldn't risk being caught. If these people were anything like the ones who had tortured Vegeta, she knew she wouldn't survive. She felt the inside pocket of her vest where the dragon ball now rested.

All of this. All of this madness for what? Research that had led her nowhere. Dusty old glass orbs and a scientific experiment that had led her to nothing but heartache.

She was cold, hungry, and too tired to cry. Instead she leaned against the alley wall, and pulled her knees to her chest. She would find a way out of all of this, but not right now.

 

Vegeta sputtered awake as Recoome shook him, almost playfully slapping his face repeatedly.

"Wake up Vegeta. We aren't done yet."

Vegeta felt himself drifting in and out, everything was fuzzy. He tried to push himself upright but his elbows buckled under the weight of his body.

The dragon balls. Bulma. All of it was gone. Everything he thought he had was quickly slipping through his ugly, broken fingers and he was powerless to stop it from happening. He was never strong enough, fast enough, clever enough when it really mattered. He was just too stubborn, too proud, to roll over and die.

"Alright, Vegeta" Recoome's voice was thick and covered sounding, almost like had a lisp. It was probably his missing teeth that did it. It didn't matter, Vegeta just knew he hated it.

"Now, I haven't had any fun like this is awhile, so you need to really give it your all, okay?"

Vegeta responded by struggling to his feet, spitting blood onto the floor.

"Tell you what. You take all the time you need. I really want you to do your best now." Recoome was taunting him. He sat cross-legged on the bed as he watched Vegeta intently, who returned the look with a glare that would have frozen hell.  _What a waste._ Vegeta thought.  _Recoome was probably too stupid to read facial expressions._

Vegeta tried to remember how Vasili had taught him to deal with pain. Don't ignore it, da? He had said. Breathe into your pain. Breathe your pain out of you. It seems like it's here. He would gesture to Vegeta's body. But it's really here. He'd accentuate his lesson with a tap to Vegeta's forehead.

It hurt to stand up straight, to relax his body which was instinctually trying to tighten up as if trying to hold itself together. Once he was standing though, the relaxation allowed his breath to loosen the hold his pain had on him.

He could probably have used another week. Recoome was dumb enough to probably let him, if he had asked. But Vegeta was too proud for that.

He seemed to fly at the comically large, red-headed man. He knew exactly how to take an oaf like this down. His knuckles shot expertly at all the points of the body that would cause him to crumble. The inside of the biceps, the ribs, the kidneys, the backs of the knees, the bridge of the nose… Vegeta seemed to almost be dancing in and out of the big man's limbs, peppering him with precise blows that would make sure Recoome felt worse than he did in seconds.

Recoome fell to his knees and Vegeta took the opportunity to drive a haymaker into his jaw. Recoome crashed backward, shattering a table and chairs as he did so. Vegeta stood panting.

"Wowee!" Vegeta's eyes shot open at the sound of the voice… what in the-

"You're really doing good!" Recoome said. "I'm impressed!" as he stood from the pile of splintered wood. He was bleeding from several spots, but mostly superficially. He spat a tooth on the ground. "Ahhh… that one was my favorite! I'm gonna have to pay you back for that, Vegeta!"

It was as if Vegeta blinked and Recoome was in his face. He had no idea how someone that big could move that fast. Before he could react, Recoome had grabbed him by the face, his enormous hand enveloping Vegeta's face, his fingers extending into his hair. He wrenched his head down right into his knee.

He watched and waited to see if Vegeta would stand up. He wasn't disappointed.

Before Vegeta could ready himself again, Recoome was once more upon him. Vegeta couldn't block, couldn't dodge, and couldn't wrestle his way free from Recoome's grasp - his tree trunk arms moved like freight trains, so even when Vegeta managed to block a strike, it shook him to his core and shot pain through his whole body.

 

Goku had to hurry. He knew he was way behind the others and probably missing all the fun. As he ran, he checked the slip of paper he had scribbled the address on. He was close, only a few blocks now.

He turned a corner and saw the motel. He burst in the room just in time to see Vegeta's body crash into a wall, cracking through the plaster, and slide down to the floor.

"Whoah! Who are you?" A thick voice called out. "This is a private show, y'know!"

Goku's face couldn't have hidden his reaction had he tried, which he didn't. Standing before him was probably the ugliest guy he'd ever seen. He was pretty sure Master Roshi had more teeth than him...and more hair.

"Sorry to crash the party," Goku said, "but that's my friend over there."

"Oh really… well, Frieza didn't say I had to keep  _you_  alive...hehe" Recoome said as he launched himself at the newcomer. His fist swung through the air, almost throwing Recoome off balance as he had expected his fist to hit something. He turned to see Goku kneeling by Vegeta.

"What the-"

"Hey, it's alright, Vegeta." Goku said. "Here," he rubbed some strange oil onto the more prominent of Vegeta's wound. "My friend Korin makes this stuff. It'll help you heal up a bit quicker than normal."

Recoome was so confused it took him a solid 30 seconds to wrap his mind around what was happening. He didn't process new things very quickly.

"Alright, pretty boy. It's time to leave Vegeta alone… you're getting in the way of my FUN!"

Goku looked over his shoulder as Recoome jumped forward to attack. This time, Recoome's fist didn't swipe the air- because he didn't get to throw a punch at all.

Pain exploded through his body. Trembling, he looked down to see the messy-haired interloper with his elbow in his gut. He fell to the floor with a loud thump.

Vegeta's eyes flashed. How did this clown take down Recoome with  _only one blow_? He had trained a bit with him months ago, but he was nothing like this. Clearly Kakarrot had been doing some training on his own since Vegeta left, though Vegeta couldn't imagine what could have resulted in this.

He rose to his feet. Goku stood up straight.

"Whew!" The clown said. "That guy sure was big!" as Vegeta rummaged for something in the corner. "Say… weren't Bulma and the others supposed to be h-"

BANG.

The gunshot echoed through the small motel room.

"What the-?" Goku certainly didn't expect that. "Why'd you do  _that_ , Vegeta? He was down!"

"Listen, fool. You're not in West City and you're not fighting common street thugs. This is my world now, and you need to play by these rules if you're going to come out alive."

With that, he shoved the gun back down in his jeans and limped away.

* * *

 

Bulma shouldn't have gone anywhere, she  _wouldn't_ have. Krillin rubbed his bald head, nervously shifting the weight of the paper bag in his arms. He glanced over at Gohan who stood in the doorway with him looking at the carnage of the room. Tiny flecks of red adorned the dirty walls and carpet. The mirror was shattered, the bed overturned, and the bag was missin

He tried to swallow the panic. He knew they never should've split up. This was a bad idea. Bad, bad idea.

_Uh oh._

He heard something crash to the ground near the back door, silently he handed the grocery bag back to Gohan, who moved to stand flush with the wall in the shadow of the window. Krillin pulled the gun from it's holster at his side, stepping carefully through the splintered wood and shattered glass. He rounded the false wall and threw his gun up, peering into the darkness.

He nearly fell back as he heard a high-pitch scream echo through the dark. He felt something collide with the side of his head. A yelp followed. He recognized that voice.

"Bulma?"

Silence greeted him for a moment, she surprised him by dropping the heavy stick and throwing her arms around him.

"Krillin. Oh my god, I've never been so happy to see your stupid face."

He ignored the insult.

"Bulma, what happened?"

The words spilled from her mouth, barely understandable. "These men, someone, they came and I had a dragon ball and I didn't even realise I still had it. I just ran and I ran and I got lost in this stupid awful place and I finally decided I would rather die than run forever so I came back here to kill them."

"You…..Killed Frieza's Ice Men." he questioned in disbelief. "With a  _stick_."

"No. No, pay attention Krillin. I didn't kill anyone. I was going to but that one was already dead and I don't know where the other one went. Maybe they fought over the dragon balls. It doesn't matter, they took my bag- it's gone, it's all gone-"

"Bulma, calm down." he guided her to the second bed, stripping the now filthy blanket off the bed and motioning for her to sit down. He placed his hands on his hips, missing the familiar weight of his utility belt. "So. What do we do now?"

"Why do I have to make all the decisions?" Bulma snapped.

"Because if I made the decisions you wouldn't listen to them anyway." Krillin stated matter-of-factly.

He had her there. It was true. She shrugged and sighed, pulling her hair from her eyes and looking around the destroyed room.

"We go to the Lookout. Our only hope is to beat his men there and find whatever Kami left."

"Well then," Krillin shrugged with a fake confidence. Almost laughing anxiously. "What are we waiting for? Let's go before someone else finds us."

* * *

 

Goku struggled to keep up with Vegeta.

_Man, that stuff from Korin really does work wonders._  he thought.  _He's such a cool guy._

Goku interrupted his own thoughts.

"Wait..where are we going again?" Goku asked, not understanding why they were now hurrying  _away_  from where he rushed so hard to _get_   _to_.

Vegeta could barely contain his contempt. "I have to find where Ginyu went. He took the dragon balls." Vegeta tried to explain with as little venom as one could expect from someone like Vegeta.

"Ooooh, right" Goku said. It was obvious he still had no idea.

Vegeta was scanning every street and back alley.  _Where would Ginyu go… where…_  his thoughts went blank as his mind felt like it had been dunked in a bucket of freezing water. His exhaustion was catching up to him.

"Didn't Bulma have a thing that could find the dragon balls?" Goku asked with his stupid voice.

Vegeta's brow furrowed a bit tighter as did his jaw. Of course… how did that clown think of that when he didn't?

He pulled the radar from his pocket. A couple of clicks and he saw exactly where Ginyu was. A cluster of small glowing pings on the radar made it clear. They weren't far.

Then he noticed the one, lone, illuminated point on the radar. It confused him for a moment, before realizing that a dragon ball must have fallen out of the bag before Ginyu took off. That meant that any minute now, Ginyu would report in to Frieza...they'd realize they were missing one, and they'd go looking for it. If only he could keep that one away from them he'd be able to control when and where their next confrontation was. After all, he was in no condition to take on Ginyu and Frieza together, even with Kakarrot. And there was still the matter of Jeice, that flamboyant Australian, final member of Ginyu's team still hadn't shown his face, but Vegeta knew he was here somewhere. He'd already run into Guldo, Burter, and now Recoome _._

 

Vegeta didn't even break stride as he about-faced and began running back towards the hotel. Goku, for his part, kept pace and obediently followed despite being thoroughly bamboozled.

"Did we miss a turn or something?"

"No you idiot. We're going back to the motel."

"Finally." Goku responded. "See, I told you that's where we needed to stay!"

* * *

 

One thousand thanks to all of my readers and their patience. Of course a huge thank you to my valiant copy-editors who make me look like less of an idiot. And praises ever be to her Holiness Stupidoomdoodles for inspiring this fic!

XOXO, The Not-So-Super Saiyan


	14. The Goodbye

**THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW**

**PART TWO**

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE GOODBYE**

* * *

 

Content Warning: extreme violence and some language

* * *

 

 

SEPTEMBER 26th 

 

8:13 AM

 

Krillin had been trying to convince Bulma to do something, _anything_ since he had found her. Or rather she had found him...with a stick. It had only been ten minutes but he was ready to give up and let her go back to her solemn sulking. The only thing that prevented him from doing so was the giant, dead man staring at him with empty eyes from the floor.

 

“I gotta get that guy outta here….how are you even supposed to lift someone like that.” he muttered to himself. “I guess we'll just have to worry about that later.”

 

Ignoring Krillin completely Bulma pushed herself off the bed. She turned to face Gohan and forced the most genuine smile she could muster. “No time like the present, right?”

 

And with that she marched over the dead man and out the front door.

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta stood in front of the hotel room, the door creaking ever-so slightly in the wind. He looked up. It was going to storm, he could practically feel the electricity in the air. Normally Vegeta quite enjoyed the rain. One of those silly things he had picked up when his life had slowed down. But not now. He didn't need to navigate in a storm right now. What he needed was a nap. He held the radar in one hand and steadied it with the other. The light had blipped and moved only a tiny bit. Now it had stopped.

 

 

He had a terrifying thought that twitched and writhed in the back of his mind. He swallowed it and pushed off the wall, trudging forward and once again breaking into a sprint. Throwing all of his energy into each step that splashed through the mud.

 

Goku was keeping pace more easily now. “You know Vegeta you look like you could use a snack. Are ya hungry?” He rummaged around in his pocket as he jogged alongside the smaller man. “I thought I had something in here. Maybe it dropped outta my-"

 

Vegeta stopped, Goku nearly running into him.

 

“What's up, bud?”

 

“Don't call me that. I'm not your _friend,_ Kakarrot.” the word tasted bitter on his tongue.

 

“Sure thing, buddy. I mean, Vegeta.”

 

Vegeta hushed Goku with a hiss and a flick of his hand as he strained his ears to hear through the silence. Bamboo wind chimes struck each other furiously in the howling wind. Something else. He could hear something else. The faintest sound of voices.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hurry up, we’'ll never beat them to Kami’s Lookout with you two _sightseeing_ back there.” Bulma shouted angrily through the torrential rain at the man and the boy trailing behind her.

 

“ _Now_ she wants to hurry.” Krillin grumbled as he pulled his windbreaker tighter around his frame. It did nothing to protect him from the merciless rain. He muttered under his breath “I sure hope this Kami guy has a fireplace, or boiler or something. No wonder no one has ever cracked these dragon’s balls, no one wants to go up into the middle of East-Jesus-Nowhere and climb a freakin’ glacier to get it. Maybe he-” Krillin cut himself off as he bumped into Bulma’s back.

 

“Aaaand now we’ve stopped.” He grumbled bitterly. But Bulma didn’t quip back, she didn’t yell or hit him. She didn’t move. The voice that broke the silence wasn’t hers. It was a man’s.

 

“G’day.”

 

_Uh oh._

 

* * *

 

 

Krillin trained his gun at the figure, shouting. “Freeze.” He tried to blink the rain from his eyes but it fell so hard and fast it created a halo of mist around everything. His thoughts were cut short by a whoosh of air and an explosion of pain in his hand. He felt himself lifted from the ground by what felt like a vice around his knuckles.

 

“You should be careful with that!” A deep voice facetiously interjected. “Someone could get hurt…”  
  
A second hand grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and actually tossed him in the air. Before he could land, a foot crashed its way into his gut, sending him flying.  
  
“I think you might actually be shorter than Guldo…. How amusing!” the voice laughed.  
  
“Ey, good one, cap’n!” Jeice called back.

 

Bulma shrunk back, pushing Gohan behind her. She felt as though her legs would give out. She tried to swallow the crushing reality that stared at her, laughing a deep hearty laugh as it stepped casually towards them through the curtains of rain.

 

_They were going to die._

 

The figure approached slowly, the muck and water sloshing as he stepped forward. Krillin managed to climb to his knees, clutching his chest. The pain was blinding.

 

The man stopped, aiming Krillin’s own gun at his head…

 

...Then it went flying into the water with a plop as a foot kicked it free from his hand.

 

Goku dropped to the ground wrapping his arm around Krillin. Bulma couldn't believe her eyes. Goku had made it. Just when it looked like their luck had finally run out, he managed to pull through. Hope ignited in her and then she heard a voice.

 

“Put that thing away before you hurt yourself, Jeice.” a rough voice chided the Aussie who had drawn his own gun.

 

Vegeta leaned against the wall casually, trying his best to keep his legs from buckling, the heavy water droplets pelting him ruthlessly. Jeice stopped short of the gun and turned to Vegeta. Rage swelled inside of him.

 

For a moment all was still, only the rain moved, slicing through the foggy air and threatening to wash them away.

 

“You.” Jeice screamed, throwing his body into Vegeta and pinning him against the wall.

 

“You fucking bastard. If you thought you'd seen the last of me, think again.” He threw a punch at Vegeta, who cocked his head to the side avoiding it with ease. Vegeta smiled a cocky, open smile.

 

“You know, Jeice I didn't. Afterall, I was the one who came after _you._ I sort of... thought it went without saying.”

 

“You killed them.” Jeice yelled furiously. pulling back and pelting his fists into the wall where Vegeta's head had been. He looked around comically searching for Vegeta, who had been in his grasp just moments before.

 

“Now...correct me if I'm wrong here, but _you_ were going to kill _me._ Turn around is fair play.”

 

Vegeta dodged him expertly, letting Jeice come to him. His arms folded casually over his chest, his knees wobbling as he sidestepped in the rain.

 

“After all it is an occupational hazard.” Vegeta teased.

 

Jeice swung his fists wildly in the rain, Vegeta always just out of his reach.

 

“Gotcha!” Vegeta snapped at the wrist that flew at him, casually plucking it from the air and pushing it into the man's chest with a harsh twist. Using the last burst of strength he had Vegeta pulled him forward again and again just to rain fists and elbows into the young man’s ribs, face, and neck..

 

Finally he dropped him forward and as the man bounced off the dirty cobblestone pavement his face collided with a boot. As Vegeta kicked upwards, flipping him to his back and sending him skidding through the puddle of warm rain. Vegeta circled him, his arms casually folded across his chest as a breathy laugh caught in his throat.

 

“As fun as this has been Jeice. I just really don't have time to play with you right now.”

 

With that he pulled out his gun and pressed it to the man’s forehead. The shot echoed through the rain calling back a bitter silence. Blood and skull fragments floated through the ankle deep water.

 

Everyone was brought back to the present by the scream of a familiar voice. Ginyu had Goku in a rather nasty lock from behind, but it looks like Goku had given him almost as good as he got, as Ginyu’s eye was swelling and blood dripped from the side of his mouth.

 

“Shit.” Vegeta hissed, turning his body to face the two. He darted forward past Bulma before she could fully process what was going on.  
  
Ginyu released Goku by shoving him at Vegeta, who dodged the clown’s flailing limbs nimbly. Ginyu smiled.

 

Vegeta knew Ginyu hated getting too close - he was probably more upset than he let on that he had to actually grapple with Goku, especially in a torrential downpour. He hated getting dirty or bloody. Vegeta had to leverage that emotional advantage if he was going to be effective here - especially as tired as he was.

 

The large man’s fists and feet flew repeatedly at Vegeta’s relatively small frame with surprising alacrity. His size definitely didn’t handicap his speed, and he kept his balance perfectly, as well. He never overcommitted to any strike, and always pulled his strikes back even faster than he launched them. This wouldn’t be easy. Nothing worthwhile was.  
  
Vegeta tried to get inside, to get close where the large man’s limbs would be a liability, but Ginyu couldn’t have kept his distance more perfectly - always just out of Vegeta’s reach, and he wasn’t even breathing heavily yet - a stark contrast to Vegeta. It was all he could do to keep pace and try to avoid getting clobbered. He desperately willed his body to keep him upright. It was as if gravity were 100 times heavier, weighing down on his joints and sinews.

  
It was then that Goku re-joined the fight - leaping into Ginyu’s reach like a fool - except he managed to dodge Ginyu’s attacks even better than Vegeta could…. And he was _smiling_. Curse that Kakarrot…. What _had_ he been up to in the last few months?  
  
For all his annoying habits... _like existing_ … Vegeta appreciated the reprieve. Kakarrot’s style seemed more favorably matched up to Ginyu. Vegeta briefly recalled hearing it called ‘Turtle School’, though Kakarott was moving differently than he had when they had last fought. It was quite acrobatic, and yet efficiently so. Vegeta would question on it later, after _he_ had defeated Ginyu.  
  
_Tzch._ There it was. Kakarrot had overcommitted, and Ginyu had spun around behind him. A single strike to the small of Goku’s back, and then some pummeling of his ribs left him on his knees, on the brink of tottering over with a shocked, breathless look on his face. Vegeta watch as Kakarrot’s eyes regained their focus and he could tell he was about to try to counter Ginyu’s next strike.  
  
Gathering himself, Vegeta once again launched himself forward, grabbing Goku by the shirt and pulling him back. “Ginyu is MINE.” He roared. He had decided he wasn’t about to be outdone by this silly fool who couldn’t grasp the severity of any situation, no matter how dire. Goku fell face-first into the mud.  
  
Ginyu didn’t expect Vegeta’s sudden re-entrance to the fight and almost lost balance as his leg swept the air where Goku had stood a fraction of a second before. Vegeta took the opportunity as Ginyu regained his footing to slide between them and close in on him.  
  
Remembering his fundamentals, he tried to synchronize his breathing with his movements, to coordinate all the effort he had left to make sure every punch counted. He mixed in a few low kicks aimed at Ginyu’s knees with his fists aiming for the solar plexus, or the gut - hoping he could land just one blow to interrupt Ginyu’s own breathing and rhythm.  
  
It didn’t work.  
  
Ginyu’s hands moved so in sync with Vegeta’s strikes, his feet shifting with Vegeta’s kicks, it almost looked like the two were dancing. The heel of his boot found its way to Vegeta’s face, and swivelling as he pulled his foot back, he landed a palm strike to Vegeta’s chest, throwing him back against a wall.  
  
“I always knew Frieza was wrong to invest so much in you, Vegeta. You have no loyalty, no honor. It was a mistake.”  
  
“What would someone like you know of honor, Ginyu? _Tzch._ No. You’re just jealous. Frieza stopped playing with you after I came along, Ginyu.” Vegeta said, spitting. “That he would want _me_ more than you.” he scoffed, his face a mask of pure revulsion, “Do you even know why? You never stopped to consider he didn’t want you because you actually _liked_ what he did to you. It took away Frieza’s fun. He broke you so easily. Like a twig in his hands. A few scars and you melted away.” Vegeta ran his fingers through his hair slowly and deliberately, bringing attention to the spiderweb of scars on Ginyu’s head. Claw marks. Branding. “You gave him everything...even your _pride._ And when you had nothing left, he cast you aside. He was done with you, whether I came along or not.”  
  
Ginyu froze as Vegeta’s words cut into him, his face twisting into a contorted visage of rage. Vegeta looked at him, the corners of his mouth turning into the slightest of sneers. He locked eyes with Ginyu sending him over the edge.

  
“You filthy _freak_ _._ _._ How…. DARE YOU.” He screamed, launching himself at Vegeta, who knew this was it. He willed his legs to move, but settled for simply remaining standing. He would face Ginyu with everything he had, even if it was just to keep conscious as long as he could.  
  
Ginyu screamed as he charged Vegeta…  
  
_thuk._  
  
The sound was like a hollow log being struck by a coconut.

It was a rock hitting Ginyu in the forehead. Vegeta turned and saw Kakarott, who had managed to get back up to one knee, breathing heavy.

 

“Hehehe…” Kakarrot giggled with a goofy smile. “Gotcha!”

 

Ginyu toppled as if David himself had launched the stone like he had at Goliath.

 

Krillin and Bulma were distracted with helping Goku to his feet. They didn’t notice Vegeta lifting Krillin’s gun from the mud. He stood over Ginyu nudging his head with the edge of his shoe, resting it on the man’s jaw.

 

“Look at me.” Vegeta’s hoarse voice cut through the rain. As their eyes met for the last time he leveled the gun at Ginyu and pulled the trigger.

 

Vegeta laughed darkly. Something about it twisted Bulma's gut. He stumbled back to collide with the wall, huffing. No one dared to speak or cry out.

 

Rolling his head against the rough stucco, he turned to face her. For the first time since he had left they locked eyes. There was something feral in him, something terrifying.

 

She barely recognized him at all.

 

* * *

 

 

9:45 AM

 

The group slowly made their way back to the motel. Bulma waited dutifully for Vegeta to say something, anything. But he didn't, he stared blankly ahead, occasionally turning his dark, fiery eyes to gaze at her, then back to the path in front of him. Slow and deliberate. He was clearly spent. Bulma could tell he was trying his best to hide the desperate condition he was in. The only part of him that didn’t seem to be ready to give out were those intense, focused, eyes. After a moment of watching them, Bulma was grateful she wasn’t the one those eyes were hunting, and for a moment she almost pitied Frieza.

 

When they arrived they set Goku carefully upon the second bed. Vegeta walked up to the prone man, silent. He pulled the belt from his pants with a swift _thwick._

 

“Bite.” he said callously as he shoved it into Goku’s mouth.

 

Everyone stopped.

 

He lifted Goku’s shirt, inspecting his swollen ribcage.

 

Everyone stood tentatively around, the silence was heavy and thick as they watched Vegeta with bated breath.

 

“This is going to hurt, try not to scream.”

 

Before Goku could finish questioning Vegeta had shoved his flat palm against the side of Goku’s ribs. The air escaping him with an audible _oof_. He inspected them further, running his fingers over the swollen tissue and repeating the process.

 

“There. I’ve set them. Try not to hurt yourself. Sleep. It will help. You. Bald one….Kuririn or whatever your name is. Wrap some bandages tight around his ribs to keep them in place.”

 

Vegeta yanked the belt from Goku’s mouth and turned to the crowd who stood frozen behind him. He blinked slowly and walked past them to sit on the edge of the first bed.

 

The others began to bustle about the room. Krillin set about clumsily removing the body from the room as Gohan quietly swept the broken glass and splintered wood out the back door. Bulma went for the severely underprepared first aid kit she carried in her suitcase but she stopped as she passed Vegeta. Something twisted in the pit of her stomach. He was different.

 

Vegeta sat numbly on the edge of the first bed, his lips slightly parted. Staring at the radar in his hands as he watched the points move further away.

 

Bulma set down the first aid kit, which was immediately scooped up by Krillin. She rummaged through her suitcase leaving clothes and cosmetics strewn about. She moved to stand in front of him, shifting nervously. She held out her hand, opening it to reveal his old cell phone.

 

“Hey, Vegeta I...I brought this for you. I was hoping I would run into you. It feels weird that we...haven’t been in touch, I mean we _have_ just...not really.” she trailed off awkwardly.

 

Nothing.

 

“Look...it would mean a lot to me if you would take it.”

 

Bulma waited until she couldn't anymore.

 

“Vegeta.”

 

Nothing.

 

“Vegeta.” louder.

 

Something was wrong.

 

His head shot up as though her voice had broken a trance. He looked at her with mild irritation, clearing his throat.

 

“Hmm?”

 

 _Proceed with caution._ She told herself reaching to the one remaining night stand and setting the phone down upon it. She stepped briskly to stand in front of him she rocked back and forth on her heels.

 

“You...you look tired.”

 

He swallowed, his brow relaxing, all the while staring off into space. His hoarse voice caught in his throat. “I am.”

 

Tentatively she sat down on the bed next to him, picking at her fingernails worriedly.

 

“When was the last time you slept?”

 

Nothing.

 

“Vegeta?”

 

“I have to go after him.”

 

“What?” she snapped. He wasn't even listening to her.

 

“Frieza.”

 

“You didn't answer my question.” She replied, the curt tone clipping her words.

 

His scowl deepened as he fidgeted with the toggle on the radar. Staring intently at the dots as they moved further from his grasp.

 

“Six days ago.” He stated matter of factly.

 

She yanked the radar from his hands folding her arms across her chest.

 

“You need to sleep.” Using her most intimidating tone. “Now.”

 

“I don't have time for that, woman. Frieza is already here, I know it. I have to stop him.” he was yelling at her. For the first time ever, he was actually yelling at her. She snapped back in kind.

 

_Woman? What the actual fuck?_

 

“Shit, Vegeta calm down. All of my experiments have failed. Miserably. The hosts they…” she looked away momentarily, a pang of regret and shame twisting in her chest. “The living test hosts never survive the initial transfer of the nanites and postmortem subjects have no response to the trial runs. They’re inert. Useless. But I found coordinates in the code. Kami left something in the lab, I just know it’s the key. The nanites will never be complete without it and Frieza has no idea what he's looking for, he’ll never come close to cracking the dragon balls, especially without whatever Kami left behind.”

 

It did not compute. She could see his mind turning, his eyes tracking back and forth across her face.

 

“What?” he finally snapped. His brain was far too tired for this.

 

“Look. Frieza can have the dragon balls, they're useless without my research. Kami left the key at his lab. That is why we’re here.” She rummaged through her pocket for the wrinkled paper and held it out to him. He gingerly took it. “He hid something there I just know it. It's the key, Vegeta. The _truth_ is there.”

 

Ignoring her ramblings he stood, swiping the radar from her hand with ease and making his way towards the door.

 

Suddenly she was in front of him arms stretched wide across the doorframe.

 

“Listen up, if you go out there like that you're going to get yourself killed. You need to rest, if only for just a little while.”

 

When did she get so _fast_? Or maybe he really was that slow. He didn't dare entertain the idea that she was probably right.

 

* * *

 

 

10:00 AM

 

 

Bulma wanted to wrap up in Vegeta’s arms and let sleep whisk her away, but instead she found herself watching him. He had ignored her offering of blankets and a pillow. He merely sat against the wall, one knee up against the arms that seemed to always be folded against his chest, his other leg stretched out in front of him. He looked absolutely terrible. He was thinner than she remembered. Slow, heavy breaths caused his chest to rise and fall, hidden safely behind his arms that cradled him. His face was contorted by a pained scowl.

 

Strands of hair clung to his sweaty face. Tenderly she reached out to run her fingers across his damp forehead. She hadn't thought much of it, her fingertips making contact with his hot skin. A hand flew up and grasped her wrist, painfully tight. His eyes flashed open, cruel and cold and empty. They softened, his scowl melting away as they fluttered closed and he released her, falling drunkenly back into a fitful slumber. Everything about him was different, more like he was when they first met. Everything except the nightmares. They were the only thing that had never changed, never slowed or lessened. Every night it was the same and no tender touch, no sweet words would save him from his darkness. He carried it alone.

 

Everything that had been, the late night conversations, the peace, the intimacy...it was all... gone. All of the progress that they had made, that _he_ had made over six months time was utterly destroyed in a matter of two. She told herself he would come back from this, come back to her. She would heal him. Make him whole. She wanted nothing more than that.

 

When this was all over and Frieza was dead they would return to the life they had built and torn down together. And from the ashes they would build it again.

 

This time things would be different.

 

* * *

 

 

1:44 PM

 

Vegeta woke with a start, his arms flying up to protect his face, his legs curling in front of him. Slowly he unfurled, relaxing into an aching heap of limbs, he rubbed the faint lash marks on his hands.

 

_Tzch. Pathetic. You’re awake now. Get it together, you fool._

 

He stood, trying to flex the tremors from his aching muscles but they seemed to vibrate inside of him. The gentle moonbeams danced across her milky skin. He wanted to reach out and run his fingers through her hair. He wanted to... but he stopped himself. If this was going to work, and it _had_ to, he had to get a hold of himself. He grabbed the phone from the nightstand, flicking it open to check the time.

 

1:44 PM _Shit._

 

He had slept far too long. It had been several hours. Sitting motionlessly for a moment, it took him some time before his mind wrapped itself around what awoke him. It wasn’t the nightmares, he was never that lucky. Readjusting to his surroundings he ran his fingers through his hair.

 

That’s right. He was….he was in Nepal. Back in West City it was...  
  
_3:59 am. Tzch. Damn._

  
He stretched his aching muscles letting the gentle tremors tighten them before subsiding. Silently he grabbed up his gun and the radar, carefully lifting the last dragon ball from the dresser where Bulma had set it. He laced up his shoes pausing for a moment, just a moment, he thought about taking the phone but he thought better of it. Leaving it on the nightstand in the exact spot she had left it. He leaned over her, breathing in the sweet spice, his lips hovering above hers. He hesitated. Brushing her feathery hair aside he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

 

“Goodbye, Blue.” Barely more than a whisper escaped his lips before he slipped out of the room and into the storm.

 

 

* * *

 

 

1:48 PM

 

 

“Krillin.” the faint, desperate whisper pulled Krillin from the first good sleep he had had since they started this journey.

 

Goku nudged him lightly with his foot, his voice the faintest of peeps.

 

“Krillin, wake up.”

 

_Goku?_

 

“Hmm?” He sat up, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes. “Hey bud.” He tried to force himself awake, rubbing his face. “What’s up?”

 

“Krillin.” Goku grunted as he tried to sit up and fell back into the bed. “He’s gone, Vegeta left.”

 

Krillin spun around in a shock, whispering harshly.

 

“What?” Gohan stirred at the harsh sound of his desperate whispers.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Veget-oh, ho, ho crap.” realisation struck Krillin almost as hard as Ginyu had.

 

Vegeta. Was. Gone. _Again._ Man, what was up with that guy? He was really making his life difficult, particularly when he wasn’t around.

 

When she woke up and found Vegeta gone, Bulma would kill Krillin and dance on his grave.

 

“He’s gone and I think he took the dragon ball from the dresser too. I can’t go after him, you need to catch up to him before-”

 

“Okay.” Krillin hummed an anxious tune to himself. “Well, Gohan we, uh...we better go after him.” Krillin scrambled out of bed reaching blindly for his shoes.

 

Gohan nodded in agreement and pulled his jacket and backpack on as quietly as he could.

 

As they headed past the bed nearest the door Krillin caught sight of Bulma’s sleeping form. He sighed. Gohan peered around Krillin.

 

“Krillin, shouldn’t we tell her where we’re going?”

 

He turned around and grabbed the boy by his shoulders.

 

“Listen, Gohan. You’re a good kid. And Bulma...you know, she’s a really nice lady. She’s really smart too. But-,” he cut himself off, searching for the words. “ _If_ Bulma finds out Vegeta is gone. She will kill me and there will be _no mercy._ ”

 

Gohan nodded, he didn’t understand but he respected and loved Krillin, so hesitant and silent he followed the man out into the rain.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

1:56 PM

 

Vegeta swirled in his brooding thoughts as they dragged him this way and that until a voice pulled him from his mind and into a sturdy stance. He was instantly ready.

 

“Hey. Hey, Vegeta. Wait up.” Krillin and Gohan came running up the road his arm flailing as the tried to get Vegeta’s attention. His confidence diminishing the closer he got to the deadly man.

 

“You...uh...you forgot your phone.” he chuckled nervously.

 

_Shit._

 

They travelled in relative silence for hours as they hiked higher and higher into the mountains. The torrential rain turned to hail and then to snow. Silence would settle over the weary travellers just long enough for Krillin to break it with an anxious comment, or the kid to ask the occasional meaningless question. Their need to absolutely obliterate peace and quiet with useless anecdotes and idle prattle was beginning to tear through the last, thin shreds of patience Vegeta so desperately clung to.

 

He needed to be patient, needed to play this right.

 

 

* * *

 

 

8:30 PM

 

 

Bulma stirred groggily, throwing her arm over her face to protect her eyes from the misty sunlight that streamed in through the curtain’s crack. Absentmindedly she reached across the bed for Vegeta. For a moment she forgot they were on a dangerous mission in the middle of nowhere, for a moment she was back home safe and sound, for a moment it was just the two of them. Then that moment ended with the gentle flick of her fingers as her hand fell upon cold sheets and reality ripped through her like shrapnel.

 

 _Gone._ Vegeta was…. _gone._

 

* * *

 

 

8:42 PM

 

 

_Here goes everything._

 

Vegeta pressed on the door carefully.

 

_Unlocked. Hmm._

 

It creaked impossibly loud. The air inside was stale and frozen. Darkness swallowed the abandoned lab and thick layers of dust covered broken equipment.

 

Discordant plucking strings echoed eerily against the cold, steel walls.

 

“Crumb.” Vegeta muttered quietly under his breath his voice tight. His body rigid with panic.

 

“What?” Krillin whispered loudly behind him. Vegeta swallowed the irritation but he couldn’t stop his tired eye from twitching profusely.

 

_God I hate this guy._

 

“The music. It’s Crumb’s Black Angels...the... second movement,”his voice only a quiet afterthought as he tread carefully forward. He blinked the thick darkness from his eyes. “Frieza. He’s here.”

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

Two million thanks to all of my readers and their patience. Of course a huge thank you to my valiant copy-editors dgschneider, CinderMane and Hanko the Doebringer. They always make me look like less of an idiot. And praises ever be to her Holiness Stupidoomdoodles for inspiring this fic!

 

Also I thought this would go without saying but I don’t own DBZ or any of it’s characters. If I did I would not be writing fanfiction about it. It would just be fiction at that point and all my shitty ideas would be canon….what a terrifying thought.

 

XOXO, The Not-So-Super Saiyan

 

 


	15. The Ash in the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, I know I don't normally preface the chapter but I thought I would announce. This is the last chapter of The Prince of Ash and Snow. There is an epilogue on the way through, so do not fret. 
> 
> It's been a wonderful experience writing this and I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
>  
> 
> xoxo, Theno

**THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW**

**PART TWO**

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE ASH IN THE SNOW**

* * *

Content Warning: some language, graphic depiction of violence

* * *

Bulma tore apart her bag frantically. It was in here somewhere. She just had to find it. The dragon ball, the GPS, the radar. Gone. The map was all she had left. Vegeta had taken the dragon ball with him and the radar. Now Krillin and Gohan were gone as well. She couldn't decide whether she was furious or on the edge of a full-blown panic. She quickly settled on both.

She looked over at Goku. Even injured as he was, he was more of a help in a fight than she ever could be. She was a capable woman and a brilliant scientist. But right now she felt useless and helpless, like a small child lost and alone. She ran her hands through her hair, tucking her head between her knees and moaning quietly.

Clicking her tongue nervously she muttered to herself. "What to do? What to do?"

Finally, she made her decision. Sitting here and feeling sorry for herself would help no one. She shot upwards, smoothing her dress and her vest and marched over to Goku's bed.

* * *

The lab was in ruins. Shattered bulbs swung precariously from wires, an entire wall had been reduced to rubble, leaving an exposed hallway behind it, and broken equipment and overturned chairs were scattered through the room.

"You two. Stand there and don't touch anything." Vegeta whispered harshly. The pair obliged, pressing themselves into a far corner and watching.

Vegeta saw everything, sensed it. Every nerve in his body rang with presence, reverberating with the strings that eerily waltzed through the air, prickling at the cold, and recoiling at the dry scent of ancient dust. For Vegeta, this is what it meant to be alive.

He swept the room, his eyes digging into every crevice, turning over every broken beaker, looking for a sign of the inevitable trap. He spotted something under the table. A notebook and bundle of papers wrapped in a cord. His feet moved gracefully and silently over the floor, barely leaving footprints behind him.

He scoffed. All of this was so very  _Frieza_. The lights in the lab had been shot out. Whether it was due to some accident long ago or Frieza himself, he did not know. Didn't much matter now. He wouldn't have been surprised if Frieza had done it. He always had been one for theatrics.

He wanted Vegeta to know he was here, even more than that he knew Vegeta was coming for  _him._  The song was nothing more than a message. It was all an elaborate stage setting for his reception.

He kicked the notebook to Krillin, so subtly that Krillin only noticed when it hit his foot.

Vegeta had no idea what it contained. Frieza was already here and something was very wrong. He wasn't an idiot and he wouldn't have left something so important to someone who was. So why hadn't he taken the notebook for himself? He leaned down to take a look at bundle of papers on the ground. That's when he noticed it. A small charge of C4 stuck to the underside of the table, the tiniest of red lights blinking.

_Shit._

_Shit, shit, shit._

Vegeta's voice was so low it was barely more than a growl.

"Get this to Bulma."

Krillin nodded meekly. All of this was too much for him. The tension in the air was palpable and the anxiety was going to give him an aneurysm. He grabbed Gohan by the wrist and ran for the exit.

* * *

"Wake up….I said wake up you big oaf."

Goku opened his eyes to see Bulma's face.

"Oh hey Bulma." he smiled, his tone far too cheery for her taste.

"Don't look so happy." She let her hands fall to her side in exasperation. "They're gone. All of them."

He sat up carefully, one hand resting on his bandaged ribs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I know Bulma. I sent Gohan and Krillin after Vegeta."

"What?" she erupted in anger. "Are you  _freaking joking_ Goku? You better be lying to me." She gestured wildly with her hands.

Of course he wasn't. He did not understand. Why would he be joking about that.

"No, of course not Bulma." he stated matter-of-factly.

"God DAMN IT Goku. What were you thinking?"

He was not sure what the right answer was.

* * *

A velvet voice slithered through the darkness. Krillin and Gohan stopped dead in their tracks, Gohan's fluttering heart dropped so fast he thought he was going to be sick.

"Welcome back, little prince."

Krillin was absolutely paralyzed with fear. He thought he was going to vomit, if he didn't lose consciousness first. Gohan clung desperately to him, peering out from his side.

Vegeta crossed his arms casually over his chest.

"Frieza." he growled.

Frieza pulled the gun daintily from his coat and set it upon a metal stool, his red eyes trained on Vegeta, watching him with bated amusement. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Vegeta pulled the gun from the back of his jeans, his thumb around the grip and his fingers lifted tentatively in the air. He cast it aside. With an echoing clatter it skid across the dusty floor.

Krillin had heard tales of Frieza, he had seen him briefly on the video feed all those months ago. But nothing compared to his presence. He was small, and slight in form only barely taller than Krillin. Paler than Death Himself, his hair slicked to his scalp was the color of dead, yellowing fingernails. His lips and nails dark, almost grey. But most of all his eyes, they traced around the room smoothly, drinking in everything. As red as pooling blood. He...he looked dead. And not freshly dead. Like he had been dead for a good, long while. He wore a suit that was probably more expensive than a year of Krillin's salary.

"Wha-what are you doing?" Krillin whined desperately.

"Stay out of this." Vegeta snapped.

Frieza began to circle the room slowly, the heels of his leather shoes clicking sharply as he went. He pulled one of his hands from behind his back, waving it dismissively.

"I am curious, Vegeta." he purred with amusement. "What  _are_  you doing?"

"Enough of your prattle. Did you really come here to  _talk_  Frieza?"

Frieza's smug look of amusement turned to one of feigned surprise as he pressed his sprawled fingers to his chest theatrically.

"Why Vegeta, do you  _really_  think I came all this way just to kill you? Tsk, tsk, you overestimate your importance, my child."

"Shut up. I know why you're here." Vegeta snapped as he pulled the Dragon Ball from his pocket and tossed it at Frieza. "Take it."

Frieza's face flashed for a fraction of a second in genuine surprise but quickly masked it with a look of amusement. He caught it easily then slowly released it, letting it drop to the floor and roll away.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Vegeta but I won't be needing it. You see, I already have what I came for...besides…" he looked deep into Vegeta with a raw hunger that turned Vegeta's stomach, "tis far too little, too late."

* * *

Goku stepped out into the road, a spring in his step. He patted his side carefully, the swelling had gone down significantly.

_Good ole, reliable Vegeta._ He thought to himself with a beaming smile.

Bulma rushed out into the street after him, her face marred with fear, she looked at the daunting mountainside that wrapped around the village like a mother's arms. Shielding it from the worst of the weather.

"Goku...do you think we'll make it?"

"Well." He bounced lightly on his feet, shaking the sleep from his bones. "Only one way to find out."

* * *

Krillin blinked. He blinked and he missed it. One moment Vegeta was standing at least ten feet away from Frieza, crouched in a tight stance, his hands, open claws at his side. The next he was sharing the same space with the tyrant. Frieza himself almost seemed surprised. Every hit, every expertly timed blow was met by a quick flick of the wrist, a tilt of the head, or a graceful step backwards. Vegeta had him on the run but he was far from winning.

_Calm. Detached. Focused._

_Keep it together._

No matter how hard he tried, his composure was cracking. The more agitated Vegeta became, the easier it was to avoid his advances.

It rose like bile in his throat; every open wound, every scar, every sleepless night, every empty face that haunted his dreams coursed through his blood like hungry flames devouring kindling. They pushed his exhausted body past his limits.

"I...I can't believe it. Vegeta's got Frieza backed into a corner." Krillin laughed nervously running his hands over his head. "He...he might actually win. We...haha…we might actually survive this."

Frieza was sharp, as sharp as he had ever been. Talented. A prodigy amongst his bloodline. But it came with a price. He had outgrown the sandbox that was humanity. The excitement of a fresh kill no longer held the same pleasure that it once had. For Frieza the hunt was everything. Like a cat batting a mouse back and forth between its paws before devouring it. His dark lips pressed into a smug smirk, his hand clasped his other wrist daintily behind his back as he danced through the heavy, frozen dust. They circled round and round, until finally Vegeta landed a hit, square in the center of Frieza's chest pushing him back into the wall. His head dropped.

For a moment, just a moment, all was still then Frieza lifted his eyes to meet Vegeta's. His hand shot out to grasp at Vegeta's wrist, twisting it upwards and pulling Vegeta into him, he drove his knee into his gut, lifting his feet off the ground.

The blow expelled the air in Vegeta's lungs as his body tried desperately to reconcile the system shock. Frieza sidestepped him nonchalantly. Unable to catch himself he collided facefirst with the hard ground.

"Is that _really_  the best you can do?" Frieza chided, disappointedly.

* * *

The winds howled and the snow sliced through skin as they marched higher into the mountains. Goku glanced back at Bulma, just as he had been doing for the past hour. She felt a pang of guilt, she was slowing him down.

"Go." she shouted into the wind.

He turned to face her, arms pulling his sweatshirt tight around his chest. "Huh?"

"I'll be fine. I'm right behind you. Just go. They need you."

"I'm not gonna leave you Bulma. Besides we'll be there soon. You're doing grea-"

"Goku please," she begged. "They...they need you. Just go."

He nodded thoughtfully and hopped lightly forward, quickly disappearing from her sights.

* * *

" _Tsk, tsk, tsk._  I expected more from you, Vegeta."

With one hand behind his back again, Frieza stepped across Vegeta. Lifting him by his hair, he pulled the young man off the ground with ease. Frieza held him for a moment, savoring it. Then with a force that shook the glass and metal on the far table, he slammed Vegeta into the wall. Pulling him back, Frieza smashed him against the wall again and again.

Vegeta's arms flailing wildly behind him as he scrambled to get a grip of Frieza's hand. He clawed at the iron grip. He lifted his leg forward and kicked back as hard as he could as his body collided with the cold steel wall.

Frieza grunted in disgust. Dropping the bloodied boy and smoothing his coat jacket.

Vegeta stumbled to his feet, spitting a mouthful of blood on Frieza's shoes.

Frieza stood motionless, staring at the blood that slicked down the side of his polished leather shoes. A growl resonated at the back of his throat.

"You impudent ape." he hissed.

He drove his palm against the center of his chest. Vegeta felt a jolt as the shock ran through his body, which crashed again into the wall behind him. Frieza grabbed Vegeta's shirt and tossed him resting a foot casually at the center of his back.

Vegeta tore at the floor in an attempt to pull himself from underneath Frieza's foot that as it ground down into his spine. His fingernails cracking as they scrapped against the porous concrete.

His attempts were utterly futile. It was just like his entire life had been. Under Frieza's foot, desperately trying to claw his way out. Nothing had changed. The irony of the whole situation was not lost on him.

Frieza hooked his foot around Vegeta's leg. Vegeta ripped his leg away with a violent jerk, Frieza pulled his arms from behind him and with a flick of his wrists he grasped Vegeta's foot and yanked him backwards violently, the side of his face shredding mercilessly on the concrete. He looked up to lock eyes with Gohan. Something about his terrified look felt too familiar. Was it pity? Shame? He wasn't sure. He wanted to look away but he couldn't. When he saw that face, still round with baby fat, eyes brimming with tears...he saw himself.

"Get out of here." Vegeta barked.

Gohan clenched his teeth, he stared into Vegeta's fierce, proud eyes. He took every blow in silence, the pain electrocuting his body. Gohan wanted to stop it, needed to stop it but he couldn't. Unable to escape the sound of Frieza's laughter and the wet, crack of splintering bone he let the tears fall freely, sobbing as he turned into Krillin's chest his small fingers twisting the soft fabric of Krillin's shirt.

"I said get out." Vegeta screamed at Gohan and Krillin. Krillin shook from his stupor and grabbed Gohan by the wrist, bolting out the door and into the storm. Gohan's eyes never left Vegeta's.

* * *

"Oh Vegeta," Frieza's words dripped with mewling desire. Punctuated only by the thick, wet crunch and he stomped down on the back of Vegeta's chest. "...it's so exciting...to see you  _crawling_  on your belly like this...it….it brings back memories...doesn't it?"

Yes, it did.

Vegeta swallowed them like rising bile as the rage that burned inside of him licked his ribs and danced up his spine. He took each blow that shook his body and electrocuted his bones in eerie silence, his fingers clawing at the concrete. The only sound escaping him was the faintest of moans as the air was forced from his lungs. Again and again.

"Being a Lord comes with certain….hmm….privileges, little prince. Herreklassen. Royals. Gods amongst the putrid commonfolk. The  _last_  royal family, it carries a weight, Vegeta. A responsibility and reverence to the power I inherently hold and a  _right._  A right to reap this world of all it has to offer me. I shall partake of the precious fruit of life and become what I was destined to be. Ascended. Immortal."

"God...d-don't you ever…. _shut up_?"

Vegeta couldn't decide what was worse, Frieza's soliloquy or the broken ribs. No, it was the monologue. Vegeta had had broken ribs before and they would heal, but Frieza's words were forever haunting him.

Frieza grasped his throat, digging into his skin and lifting him into the air with surprising ease, his legs dangling like a hung man.

Vegeta struggled to breathe. Blood erupted from his mouth, generously splattering Frieza's face. Frieza blinked, his eyelashes fluttering delicately as he pulled Vegeta's limp body into his. With a swift sweep of his tongue he licked the hot blood that coated Vegeta's lips and dribbled down his chin. He scraped and clawed at Frieza's hands, eliciting only laughter from his master. Frieza giggled, his fist squeezing tighter around Vegeta's throat as the blood began to drip faster. A pathetic squeak and a painful crunch escaped his mouth.

"I  _made_  you Vegeta." Frieza was working himself up into hysterical fits of laughter. "Everything that you are. I sculpted you, shaped you. And you, my precious pet, have been nothing short of  _petty and ungrateful_."

Pivoting gracefully Frieza slammed him down onto the metal work table. With a casual, dainty push he sent Vegeta skidding across the cluttered surface, his body colliding where the table met the wall. It echoed with a loud crash as beakers broke and piles of paper and other miscellaneous supplies tumbled to the dusty floor. Contents of a glass long forgotten, coated Vegeta's exposed arms and dripped from the edges of the table.

"You're pathetic." Frieza spat. His lips curled away from his teeth in a brief fit of genuine disgust.

Vegeta lay motionless, crumpled on the desk against the wall. Frieza watched him intently, gasping with mild surprise and excitement as Vegeta began to convulse.

Vegeta clawed at his own arms. He had never felt anything so painful in his entire life. It felt like some invisible force was ripping through him, tearing through his very nerve endings, travelling up his entire body. Frieza cocked his head to the side in passive wonder as he relished in the echoes of Vegeta's blood curdling screams.

He looked down at his hands, sure that the liquid had eaten away at his flesh. Instead the pale orange substance evaporated off his skin like pure alcohol, leaving the faintest whitening of pigment. The pain seeped deep into his bones, sparking up his arms and ripping down his spine. Like the finest shards of glass that twisted and turned under his skin. He dug into his arms but felt no relief.

Frieza laughed uproariously, slamming his hand in the center of Vegeta's chest and holding Vegeta's writhing body down in the caustic fluid, his back arched, his leg squirming and kicking. Worn sneakers squealed against the polished metal.

Frieza wasn't quite sure what had happened but it was simply too much fun to stop it now. The struggle, the screams, the hot scent of blood...it excited him, tickling his senses.

After all he had done to Vegeta he had never heard the boy scream quite like that. It was simply  _tantalizing_.

* * *

"Get behind me." Krillin muttered as he saw a figure approaching in the snow. He pulled his gun from it's holster. It was jammed.

_Of course it was jammed._

He hoped that bluffing his way through would be enough to protect him. He wasn't nearly as scrappy as he used to be but these people...they were entirely out of his league.

Gohan trembled as he tried to blink the snow away and make out the figure that was coming towards them. Who ever it was they sure were bookin' it.  _Fast._

"B-Baba?"

"Huh?"

Gohan bolted from behind Krillin and ran to his father. Goku dropped to his knees, hugging his son tight.

"Oh Go...I'm so glad you're okay. Bulma isn't far behind me." He pulled his son in front of him, looking at Krillin. His heart dropped into his stomach. "Wait. Where is Vegeta?"

"Goku...he's still up there." Krillin swallowed hard. "Frieza is with him."

* * *

Vegeta tried to pull himself upright but rolled off the table with a heavy  _thud_. Frieza crossed his arms casually in front of him. Wedging his foot under Vegeta he kicked sending Vegeta crashing into the pile of rubble on the far wall, his limp form crumpled in the debris like a rag doll, cast aside by a careless child. Frieza adjusted his cufflinks, humming along with the discordant strings as he strolled over to Vegeta's body.

"Without me you are  _nothing_  ...I resurrected you from the ashes." Frieza's composer was cracking to tiny shards, like the shell of an egg, hatred dripping from his hissing voice. "and to the ashes you shall return."

Vegeta lay face down in the rubble, trying desperately to push himself up again. Frieza grabbed Vegeta by the hair once more, lifting him towards his body and drawing him in close. He rubbed his face into Vegeta's throat and inhaling deeply. For a moment that's where they stayed. Frieza sighed and with all his force he slammed Vegeta down into the broken concrete and debris...over and over again.

* * *

"Wha-what do you mean?" Bulma numbly held the bundle of papers in her hands. They felt impossibly heavy.

"I mean just what I said, Bulma." Krillin held up one hand to shield his face from the snow, the other wrapped his jacket tighter around. "Vegeta is at the lab fi...fighting Frieza." His words wavered towards the end, bracing for impact.

But she didn't hit him, she didn't scream.

She opened her mouth to say something but only managed a quivering whimper.

"Bulma we need to get inside somewhere. The storm is picking up. It looks like there are structures not far from here." She was looking up the mountain, clutching the bundle to her chest. "They'll be fine. Goku will be there soon, if he isn't there already."

After a moment Bulma shook her head.

"No."

And with that she marched up the mountain into the dark storm.

With an exasperated moan, Krillin scrambled after her.

* * *

Frieza had already turned, casually striding towards the exit. Vegeta had lasted much longer than he had anticipated. He spoke to himself in a loud, theatrical voice.

"It's a shame we won't be able to do this again sometime Vegeta, but you see. I couldn't risk your little  _friends_  finding what Kami left behind." He paused in feign thoughtfulness. "T'won't be long now until this place is nothing more than ashes. That brings back memories, doesn't it my little prince?" he mewled to himself. He was nearly at the door when he heard movement behind him. He struggled to hide his surprise.

Vegeta dragged himself excruciatingly to his feet, his knees nearly buckling. His chest seizing violently, his lungs thick. They ached for the frozen air.

_Oh?_

He willed his body to respond. Willed himself to breathe. But he couldn't. He was in shock. He stumbled forward, eyes wide and mouth agape. He stared down at the crooked rebar protruding from just below his chest. It shot upwards under his ribs and into his lung. His throat convulsed as it pleaded for air but none came, only feeble moans escaped him.

Frieza turned around slowly, relishing in the sight. "Oh dear."

Everything in him begged for him to move, to scream, to do anything but he couldn't. Completely paralyzed he felt an onset of raw, poisonous panic. Frieza's howling laughter reverberate in his bones.

He managed to lift his shaking hands, wrapping them around the steel bar. Before he could register what was happening Frieza curled his hands over Vegeta's, touching his forehead tenderly to the young man's. He smiled sweetly and with a violent twist he thrust the bar deeper into Vegeta's chest. Vegeta screamed but only a pathetic rasp escaped his dry throat as his spine curled forward threatening to fold him in half.

"What a shame." Frieza lamented as he ripped the bar from Vegeta's chest, tossing it aside with an echoing  _clang_. Vegeta dropped to his knees, wavering. Hot blood pumped from his chest.

* * *

Goku stood in the howling storm, lifting his face into the wind and feeling the soft snow melt against his flush face. He was close. Almost there. He pulled the map taught in his hands, doing his best to decipher Bulma's chicken-scratch notes.

Krillin and Gohan should reach Bulma any minute. He pushed them from his mind, couldn't think about that now.

"Hang in there. I'm coming." He hopped from foot to foot, shaking out his arms and broke into a sprint.

* * *

Vegeta went limp as he began to lose consciousness, only the occasional twitch disturbed his body.

Frieza giggled with delight as Vegeta trembled, wheezing dryly. He gasped desperately for air with no relief. He circled the boy like a hungry animal. "It seems all the fight really  _has_  gone out of you.  _Tsk, tsk, tsk._ My wild dog, my ravenous wolf...It disgusts me to think that you come from a family that was considered nearly as royal as mine...domesticated and housebroken by a common  _bitch_. " The last word little more than a poisonous hiss. He sighed dramatically. "It's sooner than I might've liked but...tsk...I think it's time to end this, don't you?" Vegeta could feel his lungs growing thicker and stiff as he grasped his shirt, twisting it in a knot in front of him. His eyes wandered around the ceiling helplessly. He felt like he was drowning.

"The aesthetics of wanton gunfire are for petty street thugs." he mused, turning his gun in the light. "Wouldn't you agree, Vegeta?" Frieza stepped over Vegeta's shivering form to the toppled stool. Pulling a silk pocket cloth from his jacket he lifted his gun from the wreckage. "Though it saddens me, a rabid dog must be put down." He taunted as he screwed an attachment leisurely onto the end the gun.

He lifted Vegeta by the shirt, his head lolling to the side, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. Frieza pressed the gun to his chest.

The door flew open, flurries dancing into the room, the howling wind echoing through the room.

Vegeta tried to sit up. He opened his mouth to speak but could only manage a violent, hacking cough. Thick and heavy.

_Drowning._

"Kch….sch...k…." He stared through Goku to the wall behind him. Hoarse, raspy breaths barely reached his lungs causing his chest to spasm and his shoulders to heave. "Kcha...Kakar-rot." Goku gazed at Vegeta in horror. Something dark curled inside of him at the base of his spine. He blinked rapidly to stop the sting of fresh tears from clouding his eyes.

_I'm drowning._

"L-listen-" tears trickled down Vegeta's face, curling around his cheeks and melting into his hair. He fell into violent fits of coughing, blood soaked Goku's shoe and pant leg. Vegeta clawed at his throat, at his shirt, but nothing brought relief.

_I'm on dry ground and I'm drowning._

"No, no, no. Shhh." He knelt beside Vegeta.

What? Wh-what was he supposed to do? Should he apply pressure? Lift his head? For the first time in a long time Goku felt entirely, irrevocably helpless. Vegeta's glassy eyes searched frantically. Rapid shallow breaths punctuated the silence as he twisted his shirt into bloody knots.

"Try not to speak, okay? Just hang on. We're going to get you outta here, okay? I  _promise._ "

Fingers feebly grasped at the top of Goku's Vans catching on the edge of the worn and dry rubber. Vegeta tried to sit up but he collapsed with a heavy thud on the cold ground, his voice hoarse and low, his eyes desperate as he clawed at his shirt. "F-Fr….Friez-"

_Thit_.

His body jerked with the impact., head dropping to the side.

_plip._

_plip._

_plip._

In the silence of the destroyed lab, the drops of blood reverberated poignantly in Goku's ears. Dead eyes bore through him. As long as he lived he would never forget the agony in those eyes...the face twisted in pain, mouth open, silently pleading.

For a moment, just a moment, the only sound that could be heard was the  _plip, plip, plip_  as Vegeta's tears and blood dripped onto the cold concrete.

There were no final words, no teary goodbyes, no sworn vengeance. He was just...gone.

"Why did you do that? He couldn't even defend himself. You could've just left him." Goku screamed, his voice breaking.

"I have no tolerance for betrayal. Even worse, it would seem Vegeta was intent on boring me to death," he mused, "But miraculously, somehow, I have survived. The sound of his pleas for mercy no longer excite me. Maybe you will provide a higher quality of entertainment." Frieza laughed.

Goku pulled Vegeta's hand from his foot and carefully folded it across his chest. Standing to face Frieza he sloppily he wiped the tears from his face with his arm, sniffling.

"You talk too much." Goku replied curtly.

"Then by all means, just  _try_  to shut me up."

Goku didn't wait for a second invitation.

Once more Frieza was  _slightly_  impressed - for the second time in one day. Perhaps Vegeta's barely sentient race wasn't entirely without merit. His thoughts flashed to the words of his father, warning him of the past ethnic tensions between his family and Vegeta's, of the threat his people posed to him. This man… Vegeta had called him 'Kakarrot', he must have been a countryman of Vegeta, one of the last.

Goku fought furiously. All of the passion that Vegeta had given him bolstered his resolve, his strength, and his effort. Frieza was barely trying - Goku would teach him not to be so cocky.

One. Two. Three solid blows to the tyrant's face. Jumping, he whipped around and landed a kick down, hard, on Frieza's shoulder. It felt like iron. Literally any other man alive would have crumpled under the force of that kick, but Frieza stood and didn't even buckle. He grabbed Goku's leg, just above the ankle. His small hand didn't even reach all the way around. Goku began to wince as Frieza tightened his grip.

_Ah-ah-ah,_ Goku's breath was punctuated by sharp convulsions that rippled through his body as Frieza gripped every tighter. He couldn't move - his whole body seemed to seize up. Frieza grabbed his leg with both hands now, and flung Goku as if he were a rag doll.

Goku stood up from the mess of broken tables and chairs that he had landed in. Something was not right about this guy - nobody was that strong. Nobody. This guy was a freak.

Frieza was getting impatient. He wasted no time in harrying his prey, refusing to give Goku any reprieve. It was all Goku could do to keep his feet as Frieza's fists pounded into him like cannons.

Goku tried to counter-strike, but Frieza caught his arm and threw him once more. Another pile of shattered beakers and strange equipment shattered along with the shelf that he landed in.

Frieza's smirk had left his face. He was running out of things to destroy with the bodies of these foolish monkeys, and his fun had run out even sooner. He would have to get creative.

"Let's play a game, shall we?" his grin had returned. He walked slowly over to the lifeless form of Vegeta. "You have approximately three minutes left until the charges scattered throughout the laboratory finish detonating. I'll let you try to attack me however you would like while I break each of the remaining two hundred and six bones in Vegeta's body and I won't leave until I am finished." He held Vegeta's hand daintily. "If you can stay my hand long enough…"  _crack._ "Then, I could be unfortunate enough to be caught in the explosion. I don't anticipate this taking very long." He laughed a dark and twisting laughter. "Vegeta doesn't seem to be in any position to fight back. Once I've shattered...them all," _Crunch_. He began to break each of the knuckles. "I'll do the same to you - and don't worry…"  _Crunch. Snap. Crack. "..._ I'll start with the least vital ones. If you're still alive after they're all broken…"  _Thwack._ With a thick, wet crunch he smashed the bones in Vegeta's legs. "...then you may just escape…."

Goku couldn't take it. He charged forward, slamming his knee into Frieza's back. Frieza backhanded him, barely acknowledging the blow and sending Goku flying once more.

Goku rolled onto all fours, trying to breathe the flash of white out of his vision, as his knee collided with something. A gun. Vegeta's gun. He looked back at Vegeta's crumpled body, Frieza was continuing to desecrate his victim. Even death wouldn't save Vegeta from Frieza's wrath. Recalling Vegeta's cold words, his merciless execution of three men just the day before. Vegeta hadn't played by his own rules and now he was dead.

Seemingly finished, Frieza stepped towards Goku nonchalantly. Goku needed to make a decision and fast.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Goku roared, throwing himself at Frieza, blinded by rage. Frieza smiled, raising his hand to catch Goku's fist. He twisted down, locking Goku's wrist and elbow, the joints nearly snapping with the force of it.

"Let's start with your feet, shall we?" Frieza lifted a cold shoe.

_Bang._

His foot dropped harmlessly and bounced off of Goku's shoe.

Frieza's expression changed from one like a connoisseur sampling wine to one of pure bewilderment. It was not an expression Frieza was used to, and it exaggerated his ugliness. He looked down at his chest, where blood was rapidly soaking through the silk of his suit-coat.

* * *

"Stop." Krillin muttered into the blistering flurries.

"What?"

"I said stop. Hold on a minute." Krillin shouted into the wind.

"But we're almost there." Bulma turned around, stamping her feet in the thick, fresh powder and flicking the collar of her vest up around her frozen neck.

Krillin ignored her and pulled the vibrating phone from his pocket.

"I don't recognize this number." He yelled. The ringing stopped as it reached voicemail and immediately began again.

"Let me see that, you moron." Bulma hissed, she tucked her hand into her armpit and snatched the phone with her other hand. Her heart dropped.

"It's Vegeta." she whispered. "It's...Vegeta."

She slid the green arrow over and answered, stumbling over her own words.

"Hello?"

The silence hung heavy for a moment before she heard a voice. One she didn't expect. It was Goku.

"Bulma? It's...it's me Goku. Is Krillin there?"

She was utterly and totally confused. She handed the phone back to Krillin without another word. After a moment of "mmhmm's" and "yeah's" he hung up the phone, turning to Bulma he cleared his throat awkwardly and shouted once more into the wind.

"He says it's over. Frieza is dead." Krillin shifted uncomfortably blinking the snow from his eyes.

"What's wrong? Isn't that good news?"

"Yeah. I don't know, he said he needed our help."

Bulma shrugged and they pressed on, their steps a little lighter knowing that they were not running into the arms of Death.

* * *

The lab cracked and splintered as the structure collapsed on itself. Flames licked the sky and embers floating through the air. Goku solemnly removed his hoodie and placed it reverently over Vegeta's torso and face. He had laid him down as carefully in the snow as possible. He sat beside him, hand resting on his chest and with a rough sweep of his arm he wiped the freezing tears from his face.

"I...uh...I know it's not much but I hope it'll keep you warm."

Heartbreak greeted Goku in the heavy silence and in the song of howling winds. Flecks of ash and snow danced in the air.

"I'm sorry, Vegeta. Vegeta I'm...I'm so sorry." and for the first time in as long as he could remember Goku sobbed. He pulled his knees into his chest and sucked in the smell of hot splintering timber and he let himself fall into tiny pieces.

"Baba!" Gohan shouted, he sprinted through the snow, tripping through the soft powder and throwing himself into his father's arms. But Goku said nothing. Gohan pulled away.

"What's wrong?" Goku forced a smile and brushed his son's hair from his face. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat quietly.

"Go, where is Bulma?"

"She-she's right behind me...why?" Gohan was suddenly very uneasy. He took a step back from his father but before he could say anything else he heard the others behind him.

Krillin trudged up the hill and ran to Goku.

"He-he-hey! You did it. I can't believe it! I mean, you burned down the lab, hopefully what Bulma is looking for is in those paper's or…" he trailed off before he could dig the hole even deeper. "Buuut that's okay because Frieza is dead and that's what matters." He forced an awkward laugh and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.

He had known Goku nearly all his life and he had never known anything to shake Goku's youthful optimism. But this time he did not laugh, he did not smile, or rub the back of his head as he was wont to do. Goku simply stood and walked past Krillin without acknowledging him.

Goku walked straight to Bulma, grasping her by the shoulders and pulling her in tight. She tried to pull out of the hug.

"Haha, Goku...what are you doing?" she questioned as she pushed against his chest.

"Bulma. I'm sorry." she weasled her way out of his grip, locking eyes with him.

"...Sorry for  _what_?"

* * *

Her body made of iron, she let it fall into the snow. With trembling hands she lifted the sweatshirt from the corpse that lay under the light of the burning structure.

_Please, God, no._

It was everything she had feared and worse. The nightmare she had had one hundred times over. But this time it stared back at her with milky eyes, white with death. The stench of blood overpowered the sweet smell of cedar and iodine and curled her stomach as it froze in the snow. Vibrant blacks and blues settled underneath the skin, fingers twisting into his chest.

"Please…" the words barely loud enough for her to hear. "Please wake up."

She brushed the hair from his face, letting her fingers trace the contours of his cheek. "I can't do this without you."

She let her body fold itself up like a paper fan, curling up in the snow beside him through the tears and the broken sobs she sang, paying no mind to the snowflakes that danced through the sky and the soft flecks of ash that speckled them.

"If I lay here….if I just lay here...would you lie with me...and just forget the world…."

* * *

Two million thanks to all of my readers and their patience. Of course a huge thank you to my valiant copy-editors dgschneider, CinderMane and Hanko the Doebringer. They always make me look like less of an idiot. And praises ever be to her Holiness Stupidoomdoodles for inspiring this fic!

Also I thought this would go without saying but I don't own DBZ or any of it's characters. If I did I would not be writing fanfiction about it. It would just be fiction at that point and all my shitty ideas would be canon….what a terrifying thought.

As I stated before, this is the last chapter but there is an epilogue on it's way. Please let me know what you think. I've had so much fun writing this and I appreciate all of you who have taken this journey with me!

XOXO, The Not-So-Super Saiyan


	16. Epilogue

**THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW**

**PART TWO**

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

* * *

 

**EPILOGUE**

* * *

 

OCTOBER 3rd

ChiChi smoothed the delicate black silk of her qipao with one hand as she anxiously fiddled with a white envelope she held in the other. She took a shallow, shaky breath as she approached the lab door.

_Deep breath._

She bolstered herself and knocked confidently.

_Nothing._

She knocked louder and longer, nearly jumping when the automatic lock of the door clicked open. Forcing a smile she pushed it open and stepped confidently inside.

"Bulma?" she searched around the room. It was an utter wreck. The whole room smelled overwhelmingly of burnt rubber and chemicals. A stack of old, used dishes and empty pizza and take-out boxes sat precariously on the edge of one of the metal tables. Tools were scattered across the room and clothes hung off the backs of chairs and the edges of tables as if cast aside carelessly and never retrieved. A movie played on one of the computer monitors quietly while stacks of papers threatened to blow over as they fluttered in the gentle breeze of a table fan. There was no doubt about it, Bulma had been living in the lab since they had returned from Nepal. ChiChi had tried to reach out to her and offer her condolences but Bulma hadn't answered her phone for anyone or anything and she had accepted no visitors.

She found Bulma, head down in the corner of the lab, disheveled and crumpled over her desk. She reached out and gently tapped her on the shoulder, Bulma sighed but did not lift her head.

"Bulma?" she continued gently, "It's almost time to go."

Bulma inhaled stiffly and sat up, running her fingers through her disheveled, dirty hair.

"I did it ChiChi."

"Hmm?"

"I did it. I pieced together the information from the journals. It wasn't much but it was enough." She paused thoughtfully, trying to blink the exhaustion from her eyes. "The experiment is a success. The bases have been activated and the nanites are viable and stable."

She flicked a toggle switch on her desk and gestured to a vial of orange liquid that began to glow. It was mesmerizing. ChiChi reached forward, but stopped as Bulma sniffled and spoke.

"You don't want to touch that." She rubbed her eyes and pushed the hair from her face. "It won't harm you but...every subject has exhibited violent reactions, it would seem to cause excruciating pain as it attaches to the blood cells and travels through the nerve endings. It-," she looked off dizzily, "it was an  _incredibly_  expensive and taxing process to create such a small amount but it works, it really does. After initial contact they no longer need their own power source to function, taking energy from the host. The nanites read the DNA and they function like artificial stem cells. Damaged tissue can be recreated at incredible speeds, even to the extent of regeneration of lost limbs." Again she stopped, lost somewhere in between her mind and the lab as she flipped the toggle switch on and off, eventually leaving it on. "They are really incredible, they can even get synapses firing again. They work their way out of the body slowly. Only further experiments will tell me the actual life span of the nanites, but it's always long enough to repair even extensive damage to the host."

ChiChi tucked the long strand of hair that fell lose from her bun behind her ear.

"That's...that's great Bulma. Congratulations." ChiChi tried to sound as excited as possible.

"No. It's not." She turned around stiffly and knit her hands together between her knees. "They're useless because…because they have to be administered to the host before clinical death."

Bulma choked on her words but blinked away the tears. She didn't have the energy to fall apart right now.

"We...we can't bring him back and we...w-we can't even give him a proper funeral. He is going to disappear like he...like he was never even here in the first place." ChiChi swooped Bulma up in her arms and held her tight, running her fingers through Bulma's hair and stroking her back.

Krillin had warned ChiChi about this prior to her arrival at Capsule Corp that afternoon. Because the Ice Men were alive and well in West City, Krillin was concerned about the risk of holding a true funeral service. So it was decided they would gather at the morgue and say their goodbyes before cremation.

ChiChi had painstakingly prepared jinzhi for the service that never would be. She had closed the restaurant for the day, filling The Golden Dragon with white flowers and draping white silks over the table where his body would never lay. The jinzhi would be burned at The Golden Dragon afterwards for him. ChiChi may have been told there would be no service held but that wasn't going to stop her from holding one. She would not allow his spirit to wander as a hungry ghost, lost and alone. She would give him a proper service the only way she knew how.

ChiChi let her dear friend fall to pieces and with her thin, strong arms she held them together. Turning her head searching for the clock she had seen on her way in she tried not to jump as blood erupted from the chest of the man in the movie still playing on the computer, her face a mix of surprise and disgust. Clearing her throat she pulled Bulma up to face her and with her thumbs she wiped the tears from Bulma's cheeks.

"Bulma. It's time."

She nodded, wiping her tears on her sleeve and for the first time since she had come home she left the lab, flicking the lights off as she went. Only the faint light of the monitors remained and the soft, pulsing glow of the orange liquid.

* * *

 

A cacophony of heavy steps echoed down the cold hallway as the group followed behind the man in the lab coat. Krillin skipped forward anxiously to catch up with Bulma.

"Are you...uh….are you  _sure_  you want to do this?" Krillin asked nervously tugging on the collar of his dress uniform, it suddenly felt stiff and heavy. He had seen Vegeta's body, identified him for the police records, and been there for the autopsy per special request of the Police Chief, much to his dismay.

Krillin had seen death before, many times in fact, but it had never been like this. He didn't have the stomach for it, or the nose for that matter. He had tried to talk Bulma out of it more than once. He was still trying as they walked down the dry, dimly-lit hallway. She ignored him completely, as if no one had spoken in the first place.

The assistant set his clipboard down and turned to face the group. His deep chocolate eyes darted from face to face, nearly concealed by a wild mop of dark hair. He was tall and gangly and his back hunched over himself as if he were constantly waiting for someone to smack him upside the head. Smoothing his coat, he fiddled with the name tag clipped to his chest pocket. It read  _Hunter T. Brumley_. Krillin felt sorry for him. He looked more nervous than Krillin felt. After what felt like a lifetime he cleared his throat and muttered something to himself before looking at the group.

"If you are positive that you would like to do this, then...we can proceed." Brumley looked at Krillin with large, fearful eyes. He waited for a nod of approval as he absentmindedly rubbed his sweaty palms on his scrubs. Krillin pinched the bridge of his nose in reluctant anticipation and nodded. Brumley turned once again to face the small crowd. "But...please understand that, many times after death...I mean, it's interesting, especially following severe physical trauma such as this. Whether related or not we have yet to conclude but oddly enough we did find present in the bloodstream a foreign solute. Tests were ran, but they came up inconclusive. It didn't seem to affect the pH or the concentration of the various substances that make up blood, so it, most likely, is some sort of a fluke….could be a causation of the hypopigmentation we are seeing present on the torso and arms of the caradaver. But that being said, it didn't seem to make a bit of difference, it appears to be completely inert though, so….no need to worry…" he trailed off and let the awkward silence hang as he drummed his fingers and rocked back and forth on his heels, "this was quite the specimen in all aspects to be perfectly honest ...in fact, it's rare to see a cadaver that so perfectly exemplifies post mortem blood extravasation...and….the post mortem fractures…" he trailed off, thinking better than to finish when he saw them. He had rambled, he  _was_  rambling, he could see it on their faces.

_Gosh dang it._

Brumley cleared his dry throat and proceeded, "uh...after death a...a cada- a person's appearance can...change."

Though he tried to sound as composed as possible his mumbling and fidgeting did nothing to help him. He was ready for the gruesome sight that awaited them inside the locker and he was fairly certain they were not. Hunter Thomas Brumley got along well with the dead, whereas the living….hmmm...not so much. And if he knew one thing it was that he was not equipped to deal all of... _this_.

Bulma looked him dead in the eyes, pinning him down with her gaze and making his insides squirm. Her voice was strong. "Yes, thank you. We are sure."

He nodded, muttering apologies under his breath and chewing vigorously on the inside of his bottom lip. He pulled the latch up to the locker and it did not budge. He turned to the group, laughed a sheepish, nervous laugh and tried again. He shot up straight and began frantically patting his body like he was swatting at invisible mosquitoes.

"Oh...I uh..must have left the key in my other pants pocket. Excuse me." he ducked down low and scurried out of the room.

Awkward silence hung in the air. Moments later he walked back in the room.

"Sorry about that, everyone." he laughed to himself muttering apologies under his breath.

Standing once again in front of the locker, he grasped the metal bar that rested underneath the bed. Without turning around he patted around frantically for his clipboard, flipping the papers back and forth as if they would suddenly reveal some great truth. Looking back at the locker and moaning weakly under his breath, he closed it gingerly and swiftly, patting the door.

"If you will excuse me, I will be right back." he held up one finger close to his face and with that he tripped over his feet and scurried down the hallway, slamming his keycard into the pad, and forcing the automatic doors open faster.

The group began to mutter amongst themselves but Bulma ignored them. She stepped forward, hands twitching to the heavy thumping of her heart. She grabbed the door to the locker and pulled it open.

It was  _empty._

There was no body, no sheet, no tag. There was no evidence than anyone or anything had ever been there in the first place.

"What?" The word barely audible as she choked on it. ChiChi glanced over her shoulder.

"Oh  _shit._ " Krillin yelped. "I...uh...I'm sure there is some explanation, Bulma." he laughed nervously and no one believed his lie.

Bulma's heart sank so fast she felt it prickle down her spine and flip her stomach over on the way down.

"Let's not be too hasty now. I'm sure they just...misplaced him or something." Krillin cut in. He was trying to make things better but he decided it was best to quit while he was ahead.

"They've...taken him. The Ice Men must've taken him." ChiChi whispered to herself in horror.

Goku struggled to keep his composure. "Why? Why would they do that?" he slammed his fist against the locker behind him causing a rattle to echo through the room and bounce off the concrete floors.

The chaos fizzled out as the doors swung open once more, and all heads turned with anticipation to Brumley who scrambled behind the mortician.

She was a short, confident woman who wasted no time with pleasantries. She held out her hand to Krillin.

"Officer, pleasure to see you again." She said, her voice smooth and soft. He shook her hand and nodded.

"Likewise Dr. Russell. How can I assist you?"

"I need to speak with you in private."

Krillin stepped forward confidently and with a sweeping gesture of his arm he said, "Of course. Lead the way."

* * *

 

Gone. He was simply gone. No sign of anyone entering, no sign of anyone leaving. After a thorough police investigation the only thing that was discovered was a missing pair of scrubs. Nothing more, nothing less.

Bulma had gone home. She simply couldn't participate in the exchange of pleasantries, conspiracy theories, or conversation right now and everyone understood. The cold, dry, conditioned air cooled her damp skin. It was a stark contrast to the humid, warm rain outside. Her feet felt like rubber as they skidded across the ground, running into each other and slapping the ground roughly. She couldn't cry, she couldn't scream, though she wanted to,  _needed_  to. Numb. She was just numb.

She ran her hand across the wall, letting her fingertips tingle as they traced the patterns all the way up the winding stairs and to her door. She hesitated. The room that had always been hers, had become  _theirs_  and now it was hers alone once more. She hadn't returned to it since Nepal. She simply could not stomach the idea of curling up into a bed that would never know his warmth again. But tonight, in the midst of the hot October storm she desperately needed it. Needed to bury her face in the sheets and breathe in the faintest scent that he had left behind before it faded away forever.

The rain pelted down on the roof. It was almost as heavy as that night in Nepal, the last time she had seen him alive. She hated the rain, hated this storm, hated the memories it threatened to surface. But Vegeta...he would've loved it. During those brief months of relative peace whenever it would rain she would find him on the balcony or the roof, quiet and pensive breathing in the storm and letting it's electricity crackle through his veins.

She kicked off her soggy shoes and rolled off her socks letting her cold, damp feet stick to the wood floors. The thunder reverberated in her chest and shook the doors. She opened them up and breathed in the storm. Standing towards the window she watched the lace curtains dance in the wind. Peeling off her shirt, she carelessly dropped it. She thought for a moment about putting on a dry shirt but instead she took a step outside and let the rain hammer down on her bare skin as she collapsed and folded herself up. She held her knees close to her chest and rested her head sideways on her shoulder.

She was tired. She was tired of being tired. The rain drops beat down on the thin glass of her facade and ran through her. It kicked up the things she didn't have the energy to feel, the things she didn't have the energy to run from any longer. She let them catch her, let them wrap their arms around her and tug her this way and that pulling her taut sinews apart. The last threads of Bulma's composure snapped and she let herself crash into heavy sobs.

Her tears melted into the rain as Bulma wailed into the storm. She wept until her chest felt like it would collapse and her throat ached as her muscles tried to rip her apart. It hurt. She heard the door creak open behind her but she didn't care.

Bare feet padded softly across the wooden floor as they made their way to the balcony.

She didn't want them to, she just wanted to be left alone, but she couldn't pull herself away from her storm long enough to tell them to leave.

She screwed her eyes shut as she heard the footsteps splash in the rain and stop in front of her. A soft hand, softer than any she had ever felt before, and wet with the rain slid itself across the side of her face, pulling the hair from her eyes and wrapping the loose, wet strands around the back of her ear. The touch deliberate and slow, careful. It was  _familiar_.

A harsh voice cut through the darkness.

"Shhh. Hey now...Blue, don't cry."

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

AN: It's bittersweet to end this fic. I am so happy with how it turned out and so grateful to all who took the time to read it and of course to Stupidoomdoodles for letting me play in her sandbox and to LadyVegeets for inspiring it as well. 

Thanks to my army of copy editors, I could not do this without you. 

 

Until Next time. 

 

xoxo, Mo 

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Special thanks to Cindermane and dgschneider for copy editing for me. I welcome comments. 
> 
> xoxo, The Not-So-Super Saiyan


End file.
